Innocence for Ashes
by ILoveToChin25
Summary: Draco Malfoy wants his life to begin. For three years in Azkaban, control was a commodity he did not have, so when events threaten to tear his control away once again, Draco is determined that, this time, he'll fight back. Post DH AU. H/D. UPDATED
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Finally, the other sister (Anya) has started writing a new fic. It deals with some rather dark subject matter, so be warned, if that is not your thing. Otherwise, enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **don't own anything… blah – de – blah.

* * *

**PROLOGUE **

Draco dreamed of dying.

Fitful memories, combined with horror of the present, arose in him choked screams and thrashing limbs. Slumber had long ago given way to something else. Did he wake rested and fresh? Did his mind rejuvenate during the night, as it was supposed to? Often, he felt more asleep than awake.

Draco dreamed of retribution.

When screams belonging to a friend echoed mockingly through the stone corridors, only silenced when his own overtook them. When he was forced, on hands to knees, to beg for a slice of moldy bread. When he was fucked, pounded mercilessly into the dirt, rather than the rough brick of the wall; blood and bruises came in lesser quantity that way.

His mind sometimes scrambled for purchase. It envisioned how he would kill them, how the tiny rock lying near his grime-streaked face would serve as a formidable weapon against his opponents. He didn't care if that was the Muggle way. His father would never know, after all.

Only weeks after arriving, after only a subtle introduction as to what his life was to become, his father's lifeless body - life extinguished of its own accord - was dumped into his cell. At first, Draco had cried, then he'd screamed. Soon, he'd only stared. When the smell had become nearly unbearable, the body was at last removed. He'd watched with deadened eyes as the decomposing corpse of Lucius Malfoy was hauled away on a cart, without magic. How strangely appropriate, he'd thought at the time. For weeks afterward, the cell stank of death.

Draco dreamed of living.

Suicide, as Lucius had embraced so, was barely an option. Only those no longer wanted managed to rid themselves of life so easily. For months following his father's death, restraints bit deeply into Draco's wrists and ankles, restraining him in all solitary moments. One time, left immobile and alone too long, the skin on his back, buttocks, and thighs rubbed away, along with that of his wrists and ankles. Raw and bloody, afraid movement would simply break him apart, he was released. As the first scrap of food he'd seen in weeks was taunted outside the door, he was told to place his face against the wall and keep his mouth shut.

What fate had befallen his mother? he often wondered. Had someone taken pity on her, extended a hand in compassion or empathy for her situation? Each day that passed as the previous, without her body rotting in his cell, was a good one.

Draco remembered well, the righteous cries for his own blood. Death Eater! Dumbledore's murderer! Child-killer! He'd never killed a child. He supposed the angry voices were referring to his allowing Death Eaters into Hogwarts, one fateful night not so long ago. It had been Snape's wand, not Draco's, that felled Dumbledore that very same night. Not that anyone cared.

Few had spoken for Draco, though none were able to proclaim his innocence, and it was all over within a fortnight.

Years passed. Though to say pass, would imply a level of existence. Draco didn't exist. He endured.

Mostly, he dreamed.

* * *

The light stung his eyes as the prison door swung open, revealing a cloudless sky illuminated solely by the moon. It was nearly full tonight.

"Keep moving, please."

Draco walked slowly forward. Humid summer wind caressed his skin like the silky sheets of his childhood, and he reveled in the feeling. It was his twenty-first birthday. He had not been outside in three years.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, as his Auror escort handed him an oddly shaped bracelet.

The Auror's face twitched in annoyance. His response was laden in disdain and sarcasm. "To Malfoy Manor, your grand ancestral home. Where else?"

Before he could say anything further, the Portkey activated and Draco closed his eyes, hoping to quell the rising nausea as his body was tugged unceremoniously along.

"I'm sure you'll find everything as you left it," the Auror said mockingly, upon arrival. Draco blinked as he was pulled roughly forward. The hand on his arm gripped with bruising force, but he quickly found he didn't care as the Manor became visible.

Peacocks, sizes and colors all of variety, milled aimlessly about the grounds. There were no gardens - they had been mowed down by the Dark Lord's followers years ago- and so the birds seemed to have become the landscape instead. A haphazard display of feathers and eyes, all staring as the two newcomers walked toward them. Draco didn't understand. His mother had always been so careful not to let their breeding get out of hand.

Upon reaching the steps, he stumbled, losing his balance as the Auror gave him a final shove. He grunted as his knees rapped sharply against the stone.

"Fucking sick." The Auror continued muttering as he backed away a few paces.

Something sticky and warm was under his hands, Draco realized vaguely, also squishing unpleasantly under his knees when he shifted. Looking down, he found the steps were covered in bird droppings, the once-polished stone underneath barely visible anymore.

"Where are my mother's house-elves?" Draco asked, rising, very carefully, to his feet.

The Auror sneered unpleasantly. "How the hell would I know?" He continued. "You understand the conditions of your release, do you not?"

Nine months removed from his sentence. Another three for good behavior. For six of those twelve, he would spend his time entirely at a location of the Ministry's choosing, which turned out to be Malfoy Manor. Unconditional house-arrest, they'd called it. If he left, if he used his wand for anything more than the allotted spells, if he had any contact with unapproved persons, the conditions of his parole would be considered violated. Your cell in Azkaban will remain empty for the time being, he'd been told. Just in case.

Draco nodded. "I do."

"Good. Welcome home, _Lord Malfoy_."

* * *

The front doors were unlocked, though the shades and curtains were drawn, preventing even a sliver of moonlight from cutting through the looming darkness. Draco didn't wait for the Auror to leave as he entered. Lifting the wand he'd been given, he murmured _Lumos._ A shiver ran through his body, raising gooseflesh as magic once again coursed through his system. It had been so long. Draco had once imagined life outside of his cell, without magic, reduced to a pathetic Squib who could no longer intone even the simplest of spells. He'd attempted to steal a guard's wand the following day,

"Hello?" His voice echoed hollowly off the walls. Somewhere in the room, a rat squeaked.

With a sense of pervading dread, he stepped forward through the Manor, once the fairytale home of his childhood, later the prison of his youth. It was ironic, really, how in the past years he'd gone from one prison to another. And now, back to the beginning. Whoever said you can never go home again?

There was a line of light underneath his mother's door. Her suite, completely separate from Lucius', had always been well-lit, Draco remembered. Even when torture and murder clouded the very air of their home, when sleep was the only possible escape from such horror, she's always kept her lamps burning.

Draco knocked.

"Come in," his mother's voice rang out.

Narcissa was poised languidly in her favorite armchair, her feet tucked neatly in a pair of cashmere slippers, her reading glasses perched on her nose. She looked up when Draco entered.

"Draco?" she said, clearly puzzled. Meticulously, she turned down the page of the book she'd been reading. "What are you doing here?"

Draco blinked slowly. "Mother," he said softly. "I've been released. You didn't… Weren't you informed?"

"Oh, Draco," Narcissa chuckled, a fond look on her face. "I know Hogwarts has never been your favorite place, but really. Released?"

Blood rushed unpleasantly through his ears and his heartbeat quickened. "I haven't been in Hogwarts, Mother. I've been in Azkaban."

His mother clucked her tongue. "Draco, stop playing games," she said firmly. "I'm really much too tired for this tonight."

Snapping her book shut, Narcissa rose to her feet. "Shall we go the dining room, dear? The elves are preparing something special tonight. Something for your father. He should be home any minute, come to think of it…"

Draco didn't move for some time after she left the room, still chatting softly about the evening's menu. His knees were shaking, quite badly, so he sunk to the floor.

"Munny?" he called. A second later, a house-elf appeared. She was wearing a filthy, flowered pillow-case, the same thing she'd been wearing since Draco was an infant.

"Master Draco?" Her eyes widened, glistening with tears. "Munny was thinking you was dead, sir!"

"Munny," Draco ran his fingers lightly over the carpeted floor. It was rotting away in some places. "What's happened to my mother?"

Munny clenched her fists and began shaking profusely, tears and snot spilling uninhibited down her face. "Miss Narcissa is hurting, Master Draco! Her head is not being right! Munny tries telling her, but she isn't listening!"

"How long?" he asked.

Her wrinkled head bobbed back and forth several times. "Munny doesn't know. Other wizards took Munny away for a long time. When Munny was coming back, Miss Narcissa's head was hurting already. Munny is an awful house-elf!"

Munny began shrieking uncontrollably and beating her small fists, and then her head, into the floor. Draco watched her for a few minutes. He wondered how many times she would have to strike the floor before her skull collapsed. His mother would be quite upset about the mess.

"Go away now," he murmured.

Draco rose unsteadily to his feet and walked to the neatly made bed in the center of the room. He lay down, curling into a tight ball, wishing the comfort of goose-feather blankets would chase away the reality of what he now knew. At some point, he began to cry. Sobs tore through his body with such force that he got sick over the side of the bed.

"Shh," Narcissa's hands were there suddenly, fluttering over Draco, brushing hair back from his face, spelling away the mess. "Don't worry, Draco. I'll talk to your father in the morning. You don't ever have to go back to that awful school." She rubbed a hand soothingly up and down his chest. "Everything will be alright, my darling. I promise."

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: **I own my ideas, nothing more.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

Draco saw no one for two months. Eventually, he'd been informed, a Ministry case-worker would visit to evaluate his progress. Thus far, no one had come.

Slowly, very slowly, he regained his strength. A proper diet came first, though his stomach was unable to handle anything but the blandest of foods for some time, followed by a daily regimen of exercise, to build muscle. Week by week, the image in the mirror appeared less gaunt. Sunken cheeks filled out slightly, ribs weren't quite so visible, dark circles beneath his eyes lightened.

He also read every day. That, among so many other things, he had missed profusely during his time in Azkaban. Most days, he was able to finish an entire book, sometimes two. There was always another to be read, thanks to the Manor library - which remained thankfully intact. For that, at least, he was grateful.

His mother's condition was worsening. One morning, a few weeks past, Draco had awoken to find Narcissa standing in his doorway. Frowning, waving her hands wildly in the air, she demanded to know why Draco had set all the house-elves free.

"I can't take care of all this on my own!" she screamed. "Your father expects a well-kept house and I can't do it on my own! Why, Draco? Why would you do this to me?"

After ranting for several more minutes, she simply collapsed to the floor. Draco moved her to her suite and waited quietly for her to waken.

"Draco?" Narcissa lifted her head, wincing. "Is it dinner-time already? Oh, do turn the lights down, dear. They're hurting my eyes."

The house-elves had not been set free. They simply had no idea what to do in the wake of their mistress' burgeoning insanity, her often contradictory instructions confusing them far beyond their reasoning capacity. Eventually, Draco was forced to override his mother's authority. He assigned each house-elf, of which there was nearly a dozen, different duties. He also told them to humor, but never obey, Narcissa over him.

As Draco's body healed, so did the Manor. But changes were made. All curtains were discarded, all windows opened as often as possible. Draco couldn't stand the dark any more, not after existing in it solely for three years. Many nights he awoke, gasping, sheets twisted and sweaty around his body. On even more of those nights, he momentarily forgot where he was, and would cry out when Munny arrived, ready with a witchlight and glass of water. She would apologize and shed a few tears. Sometimes, though not often, Draco asked her to stay.

During the ninth week of his house-arrest, Draco received a letter from a Ministry owl.

_To Mr. Draco Malfoy, _it read in neatly scrawled handwriting. _In approximately one half-hour, please be prepared to receive a visit from your newly assigned case-worker. If you are not prepared, your parole will be considered violated and you will be returned immediately to Azkaban. Have a pleasant day!_

_Signed, _

_Merrily Merryweather_

_Ministry of Magic_

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

_Sub-Department of Criminal, Particularly-Former-Death-Eater, Observation_

"Mother, perhaps you should retire to the sitting room for tea," Draco said, taking hold lightly of Narcissa's hand. She smiled up at him.

"Will you join me?" she asked, rising gracefully to her feet. Draco smiled back faintly and nodded.

"In a little while. I promise. I'll have Munny bring lemon-tarts as well."

As promised, there came a soft knock on the door exactly thirty minutes after the letter's delivery. Surprised they had not barged right in, Draco opened the door and found Hermione Granger standing on the other side.

"Draco," she greeted, flashing him a warm smile. "May I come in?"

Draco regarded his former schoolmate silently, but nodded her in nonetheless. Once they were both seated - in the dining, rather than sitting room - he finally spoke.

"I take it you're my case-worker," he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

Hermione nodded. "I am. I'm here to make sure you're readjusting well. And, of course, to make sure all your needs are being seen to while you're on house-arrest. So, how are you?"

Draco had once been unable to keep a civil tongue in his head when faced with sheer stupidity. Now, he merely steepled his fingers and answered tonelessly.

"Never better."

Hermione blinked. "Um, well, good. Yes, good. Your health, has it been improving? I saw in your release examination that it was, well, rather poor."

Draco wondered how much of his medical history she had actually seen, as he raised an eyebrow.

"Despite no longer having access to Azkaban's pristine accommodations," he answered dryly, "I'm doing quite well."

The look that flitted across Hermione's face may have been annoyance, but Draco found he really didn't care.

"Alright," Hermione scribbled some notes down before looking back up. "How about hobbies? What do you do to keep yourself occupied?"

Draco crossed, and uncrossed, his legs. "I read. And I look after my mother. She's gone insane, you know."

Hermione's hand froze over her parchment. "W-what?"

Draco smiled humorlessly. "It's a joke, Granger. Haven't lost your sense of humor, have you?"

"Oh." Hermione frowned and scribbled some more. "Um, one more question then. For now, that is. How is your mental health? Do you experience nightmares, or flashbacks? Are you ever anxious, depressed, angry?"

Draco fidgeted, bristling inwardly at the utter intrusiveness of her questions. "My mental health," he replied flatly, "is superb. Is there anything else?"

Hermione hesitated, then shook her head, though clearly wanting to say something further. "That's all for now. I'll be back next week, same time. We'll - well, I'll see you then."

Very cordially, and very formally, Draco showed her out. She seemed flustered, he realized, watching how her hands jerked slightly as she put away her things. Had she expected a raving lunatic? Perhaps a teary-eyed apology for past transgressions? Or maybe, merely the sharp-tongued schoolboy she'd once slapped.

Draco offered a tight smile when Hermione waved. She Disapparated with a pop.

Letting his breath out slowly, allowing a margin of his neatly controlled persona to fall, he joined his mother in the sitting room. Narcissa frowned at him as he sat.

"Draco, there was a woman here just now," she said. Her voice sounded fairly odd. "She was looking for you. She…"

Draco took a careful sip of his tea. "Yes, Mother. She's just a friend. No need to worry." He bit into a lemon tart. Finding it much too sweet, he set it back down.

Her hand shaking noticeably, Narcissa brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I've seen her before?" she asked, nearly whispering.

Three years previous, when Potter, Granger, and Weasley were brought to the Manor. Granger had been tortured and, shortly afterward, they'd escaped. The Dark Lord had not been pleased.

"At school," Draco answered, taking another small sip. "She was… She's a very good student."

Narcissa suddenly laughed, a delicate and warm sound he'd heard little of in the past three months.

"Darling, I've just remembered!" She stood, smiling. "It's your birthday! Stay here. I have the grandest surprise waiting for you. I'll be right back!"

Draco set his teacup down with a clatter. Hot liquid sloshed over the edges, spilling over his hand and onto the oiled furniture beneath. He observed his red, blistering knuckles without interest, finding he didn't much care.

* * *

Selecting the proper wine for a meal was said to be a delicate and finessed gesture, and Harry Potter had long ago decided he was awful at it.

Hoping the bottle of sparkling pink wine went well with roast beef, he set a few final touches to the table. All the while he wondered, as he did every week, why Hermione had ever thought it a good idea to have Harry cook. Take-away and boxed dinners worked quite well the other six days of the week, after all.

A short while later, the Floo burned bright green and Hermione stepped out, brushing a few stray bits of ash off her shoulders.

Harry grinned and greeted her with a quick hug.

"So have you talked to Ron lately?" he asked a bit later, a few bites into their food.

Hermione was picking at a carrot with her fork. "What?" She looked up.

"Ron," Harry prompted. "Have you heard –"

"Oh! Oh, Ron, yes, he's good. Really good. He says the Americans are just loving the joke shop. It sounds like he and George are doing great. Wait, I did tell you it opened last week, right?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Hermione, are you ever going to tell me what's on your mind? You've been distracted all night." He paused. "No, I take that back. You've been distracted for weeks."

"I don't know what you mean," she sniffed, taking a large sip of wine, grimacing slightly. "Harry, this is dreadful…"

"Hermione…"

"Harry." She looked at him firmly. "You know I can't discuss my cases with you. It's –"

"The Ministry," he interrupted. "Yes, I'm well aware. And I'm not trying to butt into their business." He speared a large chunk of beef and popped it in his mouth. "Just yours."

Hermione sighed. "Oh, alright." Arms crossed, she leaned forward slightly. "If you mention this to anyone…"

"Hermione, come _on_."

She sighed again. "I was assigned a new case, about a week ago," she began, speaking slowly. "They thought I would be well-qualified, given my past acquaintance. So I could tell what's different, I suppose. It's… well, it's Draco Malfoy, Harry."

Harry laid down his fork. Food suddenly didn't sound quite as appetizing.

Hermione continued. "Today was the first home-visit - which I made by myself." She gulped down another swallow of wine. "It was awful."

"What did they expect?" Harry said. "Making you go back to Malfoy Manor after what happened? And making _Malfoy _your client? Isn't there someone a bit more experienced to deal with his type?"

"His type?" Hermione frowned and Harry immediately snapped his mouth shut.

"What?" he asked, a bit sheepishly. "Hermione, I didn't mean…"

"Harry, I never said _he _was awful. And I seem to recall you testifying _for _Malfoy a few years back. Or have you forgotten?"

"Of course not," Harry snapped, looking away. "Some good it did."

Hermione huffed. "And some good you're doing now, Harry. At least back then you still cared."

Deeply burned by her remark, Harry scowled and stabbed haphazardly at his remaining dinner.

"Harry…" she said softly, a few moments later. "I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean that…"

"So what was wrong with Malfoy?"

Hermione grimaced. "Azkaban is supposed to be better now, isn't it? I mean, that's what all the reports say. More humane, better living conditions."

"In other words, the complete opposite of what Sirius lived in," Harry said darkly.

She nodded. "Basically, yes. But Malfoy… I'm not sure how to describe it. He was - it was like something was missing. Like whatever it was that made Malfoy, well, _Malfoy_, was missing."

Harry considered her, sorry he'd spoken so harshly a moment ago. He hadn't seen his friend this bothered in a long time.

"Hermione," he said, "he spent three years in prison. I'm sure it will be awhile before he's back to his charming self."

"No, that's not what I mean." She frowned, pinching her eyebrows together in thought. "He was… too normal. If that's possible. I mean, Harry, no one can go through three years of Azkaban and come out completely unscathed. It's just… Well, it's not just that either!" Hermione drank some more wine, and coughed. "There have been other things lately." She frowned at the table. "Things I'm not sure I'm supposed to have noticed."

Harry smiled slightly. "I thought Ron and I were the ones who always got in trouble."

Hermione looked up. "Malfoy told me his mother was insane, Harry. And then he told me he was joking."

'_Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?'_

"Why would he joke about that?" Harry asked softly, the image of Narcissa Malfoy bending over him, and then lying to Voldemort, still fresh in his mind.

"Well," Hermione said. "I'm not sure he was."

'_It's for the best, Mr. Potter. The Malfoys have always been a bad lot - inbred, racist, lying scum they are. Don't you worry, now. They'll be well taken care of.'_

"Hermione." Harry exhaled slowly. "Where are you going with all of this?"

She was silent, hesitation flickering across her features. "I don't think I should tell you yet," she said, finally. "Not because I don't trust you, obviously. But… I need to investigate more, is all. And maybe…"

"What?"

"Maybe next time I go to the Manor, you could come with me?"

* * *

Draco sometimes had nightmares about his own death. He'd been skinned alive, burned, drowned. His body parts had been removed, one by one, he'd been poisoned, he'd fallen off a broom. Sometimes, Harry Potter sliced open his chest and removed his still beating heart.

"I can tell the wrong sort for myself," he'd say, before bursting Draco's heart in his fist.

Voldemort also featured prominently, as was no surprise. Once, Draco died within his own brain, while the Dark Lord laughed and explained how a true Legilimens could kill you. Other times, Nagini wrapped her lithe body around his own, squeezing until his eyes popped out, until blood ran from every orifice and every bone cracked and turned to dust. Draco often wondered if he was going crazy.

* * *

The morning of Hermione Granger's second visit, Draco woke screaming, one fist wrapped tightly around Munny's fragile neck, the other twisted in his sheets.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" Disgusted, he dropped the elf to the ground, where she coughed and wheezed for several minutes. Draco shuddered and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Munny is sorry," she rasped. "Master Draco is crying out while he sleeps. Munny just wants to help…"

Draco closed his eyes. "If I ever touch you again, Munny, you must Disapparate immediately. Do you understand?"

Munny sniffled. "Why, sir?"

"Because I'll fucking kill you!" he yelled, throwing a candle in the elf's direction. Munny was gone before it landed.

The remainder of the morning passed in careful silence. Narcissa, complaining of a cold, retired to her room shortly after breakfast.

"I've been so sickly lately," she said. "It must have been one of the guests at the party last week. I really must be more careful about whom I invite over."

Left alone with his thoughts, Draco grew irritable and restless. Reading was an involved activity, but he didn't do well, nowadays, left in his own head for too long. Hermione's arrival, promptly at half past one, was therefore a welcome distraction.

"Granger," he greeted, showing her in. Hermione smiled politely and sat. Something to the left seemed to be drawing her attention.

"Tea?"

Hermione jumped slightly, snapping her head around. "Oh, no. Thank you." She cleared her throat. "How are you?"

After taking a fair amount of time to pour his own tea and sit, Draco answered. "No worse than last week." He casually crossed his arms and leaned back. "Is there something the matter?"

"What?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Nothing! Nothing at all. I'm fine." She mimicked his arm-crossing, laughing nervously. "Besides, I'm here to ask _you _questions."

It was quite possible that he'd imagined it, the sliver of white that seemed to blink at him from thin-air, but Draco had long ago learned to trust his instincts - and this was nothing new. He almost smiled. Some people never learned. And who could've asked for a better distraction?

"I'm not in the habit of following orders from Mudbloods," Draco said lightly, allowing a small sneer to form on his lips.

Hermione's mouth nearly dropped open. She was, apparently, quite taken aback by this sudden change in demeanor.

"Ex - excuse me?" she stammered. "What –"

"Oh, drop the act already, Granger," Draco continued. He narrowed his eyes a bit, for effect. "Did you really think we'd get along after all these years? Whose brilliant idea was it to send you here anyway? Sending a Mudblood to do a real witch's job."

"Stop it, Draco." Hermione's face was flushed deep-red in anger. "We're not children anymore, so quit acting like one. Do you really want me reporting this kind of behavior to the Ministry?"

He sneered. "Report away. _I'm _not the one who broke the rules."

Hermione froze. "What?"

"And speaking of children," Draco went on. "Whatever became of the Weasley clan? Surely that red-headed bitch has popped out another dozen or so by now. Replacing all the ones that died, I suppose."

"You fucking bastard!"

Draco nearly laughed as a heavy body slammed into him, knocking his chair over and pinning him to the ground. A fist connected with his nose and blood gushed over his face.

"Harry, stop!" Hermione cried.

"Yes, Harry. Stop," Draco mocked, kneeing upwards. A satisfyingly pain-filled grunt was confirmation he'd found his target. A moment later, the weight disappeared from Draco's chest and he sat up. Greeting him with a furious glare was Harry Potter.

"I told you he was alright, Hermione," Harry said heatedly. "He's still a complete git! You haven't changed at all, have you, Malfoy?"

Draco spat blood from his mouth. "Missed me, Potter?"

"Both of you, stop it right now!" Hermione, looking alarmed, began scrambling in her robes.

Harry scowled harder, clenching his fists. "Hardly! You know, I really thought spending two years with Voldemort was enough to change even the likes of you, Malfoy. But apparently, not even three fucking years in Azkaban could knock the bastard out of you!"

"Harry!" Hermione's wand was pointing at both of them.

"Maybe I've been waiting for _you_," Draco sneered. He swiped a hand across his face. "Want to give it a try?"

"Draco!"

Draco glanced up, then back at Harry. "And since when did the Mudblood start calling me by my first name? I thought that was only reserved for people she's fucking."

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy!" Harry yelled, rising to his feet.

Moving more slowly, Draco stood as well. "I already told you, Potter," he said in a soft voice. "You're welcome to make me try."

"_Immobilus_!" Hermione cried, just as Harry lunged for him again. Frozen in midair, Harry looked possibly more furious than Draco had ever seen him.

"You shouldn't have stopped him," Draco said coolly, studying Harry's face. He wondered if Harry would've killed him. He turned to Hermione, whose mouth was set in a furious line. "Isn't that why you brought him here, after all?"

Several emotions flickered across Hermione's face. "Of course not!" she snapped. "You weren't even supposed to know he was here." She sent a pointed glance at Harry. "And you were never supposed to start fighting. Honestly, you are both acting ridiculous! Harry, I'm going to let you go now, but so help me, if you take one step toward Draco!"

The spell was lifted. Harry stumbled, barely catching himself on the back of a chair. "Didn't you hear him, Hermione?" He glared at Draco. "I'm not sure you and _Draco_ are on a first-name basis anymore."

Draco smirked coldly and raised his eyebrows.

"Stop it!" Hermione demanded. Her eyes were wide and angry. "Just stop it! I asked you here to help, Harry, not punch him in the nose!" She stomped her foot. "We're leaving. _Now_."

"And you!" Whirling around, Hermione stabbed her wand in Draco's direction. "I expect a full, _civil_, discussion the next time I'm here!"

Draco watched them leave with a neutral expression. Hoping his mother hadn't heard any of that, he headed off to find an unstained shirt.

He hadn't felt so alive in a long time.

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

_Date: June 14__th__, 1998_

_Location: Ministry of Magic - Level 2_

_Event: Trial of Draco Abraxas Malfoy _

_Transcribed by the official Scribe of the Wizengamot (by use of a Quick-Quotes Quill)_

_"The accused will remain standing and will respond to all inquiries in a prompt and succinct manner. Is that understood?"_

_ Draco Malfoy's eyes remained fixed to the floor. "Yes," he answered flatly. _

_ "Good." Tiberius Ogden, Acting Minister of Magic, nodded curtly to his left. "Let the hearing commence."_

_ A small murmur fluttered through the crowd as a young, dark-haired witch stepped to the podium. She took a moment, clearing her throat. "Fellow members of the Wizengamot," she began. Her voice rang clearly through the courtroom, much as her grandmother's, the late Griselda Marchbanks, once had. "Draco Malfoy is the son, and only heir, of Lucius Malfoy - convicted Death Eater and known participant in numerous murders, tortures, and other such unspeakable crimes against the Wizarding world and Muggles alike. Although the exact date of his initiation remains unknown, Draco Malfoy is also a Death Eater. It is a fact that he performed, and made successful use of, the Imperius Curse on Juliana Rosmerta before he was even of legal age. It is also a fact that he allowed a number of Death Eaters, of which the werewolf Fenrir Greyback was present, into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the night of Albus Dumbledore's murder. Eye-witness accounts have placed him at several torture sessions over the past year, many in which he participated. Each victim of these sessions is now deceased. Draco Malfoy was also present at the Battle of Hogwarts. He was seen firing multiple curses, in addition to his questionable role, however direct or indirect, in the deaths of several Hogwarts students, including one Vincent Crabbe. Does the accused deny any of these allegations?"_

_ Malfoy shifted his weight, the magical bonds around his feet and wrists clinking with the movement. "No," he answered. _

_ The courtroom once again erupted in chatter. _

_ "Quiet, please," Ogden's voice boomed. A few stray whispers continued, but the sound dissolved quickly into curious silence. _

_ "Mr. Malfoy," Eleanor Marchbanks continued. "It has been debated whether or not you have the Dark Mark present on your left forearm. If you do, please raise your arm now for everyone to see."_

_ That time, even Ogden couldn't quiet the rush of admonishing voices as Voldemort's Mark winked cruelly at them from the pale flesh of young Malfoy's arm. His face was impassive, grey eyes shuttered and cold as the onslaught continued. _

_ Eventually, Marchbanks went on. "While the accused was underage, and therefore cannot be held solely responsible for activities up to that point, he _will _be held accountable for his actions throughout the previous year. At this time, I ask the Wizengamot that Draco Abraxas Malfoy be tried and questioned, under Veritaserum, for the following crimes: multiple uses of the Cruciatus curse, bearing of the Dark Mark, associating with known Death Eaters, as well as You-Know-Who himself, suspicion of murder, and general disorder."_

_ "Request granted, Ms. Marchbanks," Ogden answered immediately. "This hearing will continue in three hour's time." He paused, glancing over the room. "There is one final thing issue must be attended to, however, before we move on. Ms. Marchbanks?"_

_ Marchbanks' hands tightened on the podium. Those close enough could see a vein pulsing in the side of her neck. "If there is anyone willing to provide testimony in favor of the accused," her voice was strained, "please rise now."_

_ Three figures, all seated side by side, rose quietly to their feet. _

_ "Very well," Ogden said, though he was clearly surprised. "Please proceed to holding room ten. We are now adjourned."_

_ Cameras are not officially allowed in trials, not even in the grandest of cases. But as Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood were escorted from the courtroom, they were all but blinded by the flashing of lights._

* * *

"Hermione! I'm sorry, alright? Just calm down." Harry took a step back, as if Hermione's smoldering gaze would somehow be lessened by moving away.

"No," Hermione said with a jabbing finger, "I will _not_ calm down! Harry, do you have any idea how much trouble I could get in for what just happened? Let alone, what could happen to Draco!"

Harry scowled. "Would you stop calling him that? You heard what he said."

Hermione scowled harder. "No, I will not!" she snapped. "Will you listen to yourself? Could you please, for one minute, forget about this stupid, juvenile rivalry you two have? We're adults now, for goodness sake!"

"Me?" Harry stared at her in disbelief. "He was insulting you, Hermione! He was insulting Ron, and Mrs. Weasley - and Ginny! What did you expect me to do?"

Hermione flopped down on the couch, groaning. "I expected you to shut up and stay hidden, like I told you," she said from behind her hands. "He must have seen you anyway… that's why he started going off like that…"

"Started - ? Hermione, that's _Malfoy_! That's how he's always been! That's how he always _will _be. People like him don't change!"

"And what if he hasn't changed?" Hermione sat up, fixing Harry with a glare again. "Yes, he's a bastard, unimaginably so, and yes, he is probably messed up beyond all repair thanks to his upbringing. But you know better than anyone that he's not a killer, Harry. He's not even an awful person." She huffed out a breath. "Even Draco Malfoy deserves another chance."

With a snort, Harry sunk down to the couch beside her. "And this is why you're going to make such a brilliant Arguer, Hermione."

Hermione eyed him sideways. "And?"

Harry groaned. "And I'm sorry for being too tall to fit in the Invisibility Cloak anymore. I'm not really sorry for punching that asshole in the nose."

"Harry…"

"I'm not! Hermione, he had it coming. And it's not like he's going to report anything. He'd be the one packing back to Azkaban, after all."

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Harry quietly continued to seethe, replaying Malfoy's comments over and over in his head. Particularly, the ones about the Weasleys. But he stayed quiet, for Hermione's sake.

"So I guess we didn't find anything out about Malfoy's mother," he commented, after a little time passed.

Hermione shot him a scathing look. "Not exactly the visit I was hoping for, no."

"Um…" Harry cleared his throat. "I guess you don't want to try again next week?"

"Harry, do you know why Malfoy thought I brought you along?" Hermione asked, not looking up.

Harry shrugged. "School reunion? How should I know?"

Hermione snorted softly. "_I _know. Because he pretty much said it, loud and clear for both of us." She turned slightly to face him. "He thought I brought you along to do _exactly what you did_, Harry. To fight. To hurt him. Maybe even to kill him, I don't know. I just… I don't know."

"Why would either of us want to kill him?" Harry narrowed his eyes slightly, indignation outweighing his confusion at the moment. "Malfoy knows I'm one of the only ones who spoke up for him at his trial. And here you are, actually trying to help the git. What, does he think we just wanted a go at him ourselves? Some thanks."

"I should go." Hermione stood abruptly, wand still gripped tightly in her hand.

Harry stood too, frowning. "Hermione, wait. I'm sorry, I don't –"

"No, I'm sorry, Harry," she interrupted. She gave him a softer look. "I should never have involved you. It was wrong of me. You're still going through things, and… well, I'm sorry. I'll see you on Thursday."

Before Harry could say another word, before the impact of Hermione's words had even settled, the Floo flared green and she was gone.

* * *

Narcissa's bloodshot eyes were not the most alarming thing about being abruptly woken a few nights later.

"Mother?" Draco quickly sat up. He blinked, slowly, and the room came into better view.

It was near morning, as was evident from the stream of growing sunlight peeking through the windows, but much too early for Narcissa to be awake. And there was never an appropriate time for her current state of being - to be kneeling beside her son's bed, an expression of constrained horror on her face.

"Draco," she whispered. "Draco, you must leave this place. _Now_." Her eyes darted back and forth, seemingly searching for the source of her fear in the darkness.

Draco frowned, his heartbeat increasing with each word his mother spoke. There was something different about her voice, something more… aware.

"Why?" he asked carefully. "Mother, we're safe here. You should return to bed."

Narcissa's eyes flashed. "Do not speak to me as if I were a child, Draco," she hissed. "We are _not _safe here. You must leave! You must find her, do you understand? I believe she knows! Go now, before –"

Despite the dim light in the room, Draco was able to see the exact moment Narcissa's expression changed. A sense of calm assurance stole over her pale features, transforming her panic-stricken state into one of vague confusion.

"Draco?" She rubbed a hand shakily across her forehead. "I'm sorry, dear… I must… I believe I was sleepwalking again."

"Sleepwalking?" Draco murmured. His temples pounded with each heartbeat. "It's - it's alright, Mother. Shall I help you back to your room?"

Narcissa laughed lightly, standing. "No, no. You need your rest." She moved to the door. "I'll see you in the morning."

"_Lumos_," Draco whispered, moments after his mother had left the room. Bluish light glowed from the tip of his wand - the Ministry's wand, he reminded himself- casting an unearthly pallor to Draco's colorless face.

What had just happened?

After a few seconds, the initial shock had passed from his system. Throwing back his bedding, Draco called for the house-elves to bring tea, also a calming potion. He downed both quickly and waited for his overworked nerves to settle.

On the eve of leaving Azkaban, Draco had been visited by a Ministry official. The aging, rather twitchy Wizard had been unfamiliar to him, though such was no surprise, given the length of Draco's incarceration. In one of only a few sane conversations since entering the prison's damp walls, Draco had learned about his mother's fate.

"She was acquitted of all crimes shortly following your sentencing," the Wizard had said. "Harry Potter - do you know him? Haha, of course you know him. How silly of me…" He'd cleared his throat nervously. "Potter spoke up for her, said she lied to You-Know-Who's face. Saved Potter's life, apparently. He gave them the memory and everything, though it's not available to everyone, and she was cleared the next day."

Draco had stared, caught somewhere between relief and incredulity.

"My mother," he'd spoken softly, eventually. "Where is she now?"

"Well," the Ministry worker shifted and began picking at his fingernails underneath the table. "She's become somewhat of a hermit. Stays at Malfoy Manor almost all the time now. Likes to be left alone, I imagine, given what happened to her fam– … Um, yes, but, some good news, Mr. Malfoy. The Ministry has decided you will be spending the duration of your home-arrest at the Manor! Isn't that delightful?"

Nothing had been mentioned of Narcissa's loss of reality. Or perhaps, simply no one had known, as she was no longer considered a threat.

Draco had witnessed all levels of insanity by the time he reached his twenty-first birthday; first within the ranks of Voldemort's followers, and then, in his subsequent years in Azkaban. And so what had really shocked him, infinitely more than the severity of Narcissa's condition, was to whom it had occurred. Narcissa was strong, much stronger than many had once thought. Her relationship with Lucius had hardly been that of an obedient, reserved wife and, though Draco had grown up in complete reverence of his father, his mother had always remained somewhat of an enigma. Society, at least that in which he was raised, demanded certain formalities, called for careful execution of tradition. Narcissa knew the dance well. But, always, she seemed to be one step above it, looking down. In control.

What had driven her to this warped sense of being? Draco had wondered, upon returning home. His fate had not been death, nor even a prolonged imprisonment, compared to so many others. Why had she not held on, only a little longer, to see her son return to her side?

_What if she had? _

Hands shaking with tension, Draco picked up a quill and bent over a blank piece of parchment. With a hope practically foreign flaring in his gut, he began to write.

_Granger,_

_ Are you willing to grant me a small favor during your visit? I fear my mother is ill, but my wand is unable to cast the necessary diagnostic spells to determine so. I would be very grateful._

_ Draco Malfoy_

_P.S. I apologize for my conduct during our latest encounter. Perhaps it was something I ate. _

_P.P.S. Just a thought. The Ministry is less likely to hear about Potter's visit when I am feeling appeased._

* * *

_ Dear Draco,_

_ There's no need to resort to threats. I would be more than willing to examine your mother. Until our next meeting-_

_ Hermione Granger_

* * *

"Mrs. Malfoy, can you tell me what today is?" Hermione questioned bluntly, very different than the delicate handling Draco had accustomed himself to. He clenched his fists at his sides, but said nothing.

Narcissa regarded the intruder to her home as one regards an interesting, if somewhat annoying, insect.

"It's August twenty-third," she answered, correctly. She cocked her head slightly. "What did you say your name was?"

"Hermione Granger. I attended school with Draco."

Narcissa smiled. "Granger? Hmm… Attended school, you say? Are you not returning this fall?"

For her credit, Hermione only blinked. "No, Mrs. Malfoy. I finished, quite some time ago. Draco did as well."

That was… not entirely true. Unless a year spent attending torture sessions and learning how to best extinguish the Muggle-born population counted as an education. Draco allowed himself a soft sigh.

"Don't be ridiculous," Narcissa said, though her tone remained conversational. "Draco will be a fifth-year, come September. And he's been made a prefect. Were you ever a prefect, Ms. Granger?"

"Mother," Draco interrupted, having had quite enough of this. He stood abruptly. "Would you excuse Grang – Hermione and I for a moment. There's a new charm I've been meaning to practice with her."

Narcissa's demure smile melted into one of genuine affection as she turned to her son. "Of course."

"Well?" Draco snapped impatiently, once he and Hermione were safely away.

Hermione crossed her arms, her expression reserved. "There's nothing medically wrong with her," she began in a frustrated voice. "And there's no sign of spell contamination, or curses of any variety I'm aware of."

"I'm sure there are plenty of curses you're unaware of," Draco muttered, kicking at a clump of leaves gathered on the porch.

"But both of those things are entirely contradictory," Hermione continued, ignoring him. "Dementia of that severity doesn't just _happen_."

"It happened, Granger." Draco narrowed his eyes speculatively. "If there are no medical symptoms, and it's not from a spell, what caused it? Or who?"

Hermione's gaze lowered, and then raised again. "I may know," she said softly, eyes shining. "But I can't tell you."

Draco said nothing. A cold mix of emotions - anger, fear, injustice, contempt - washed through him and he shuddered, but only inwardly. What Hermione saw was barely the twitch of an eye.

"Fine," he said flatly. "I imagine it's time for you to be going, then."

He turned to walk back inside. Hermione's hand caught his arm however, and Draco had to force himself not to jerk violently away.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her brows were knit in obvious pity. "I'll explain everything. I promise. Just… not yet." When Draco failed to respond, she sighed loudly. "If your mother acts any differently, or… or anything else strange happens, owl me immediately."

Her hand released his and she Disapparated without another word.

Draco breathed shallowly for several minutes, hoping to regain some control of his jumping nerves. He could still feel Hermione's touch burning through his sweater though, even as he returned to the sitting room.

He resented it. And he longed for it.

For far too long, Draco had been denied of touch without malice. Even before, neither of his parents had been the type to dote upon him, not in the manner of hugs and kisses, and so Draco found solace in other places. Fingers stroking delicately through his hair, lips parting gently beneath his, a warm body pressed flush to his own, arms encircling and embracing him. Draco had been denied of such for too long, and then subjected to it for even longer. He wondered if his clouded and battling emotions would ever find a peaceful medium again. He doubted it.

When Draco stepped through the arched doorway leading to the sitting room, his mother was not alone. He stared, not even bothering to brandish his wand, considering its limited capabilities as two pairs of eyes rose to meet his.

"Draco," his mother said. "Come sit down."

A tendril of reaching consciousness probed Draco's mind and he quickly blocked it, raising the powerful Occlumency shields Bellatrix had once helped him construct. Pain blossomed through Draco's skull and he gasped.

"Now, now." The stranger clucked in admonishment. "That's not very cordial of you. You should listen to your mother. Sit."

Draco continued to stare. He recognized her… something overwhelmingly familiar nagging to be remembered.

"I've seen you before," he said, taking a step closer. "Where have I seen you?"

His head pounded harder, bursts of light erupting in his vision. A moment later, Draco found himself half-sitting, half-lying on the floor, unsure how he'd gotten there.

"That's better!" The stranger's voice sounded cheerful and menacing at the same time. "We've gone through this before, Mr. Malfoy. I fail to see why you insist on being so difficult." She sniffed. "It is simply unbecoming of a pureblood."

"Should I go make some tea?" Narcissa said softly. Draco realized she'd risen and was already heading for the hallway. "Your friend should be arriving soon, Draco."

Draco opened his mouth and abruptly found it dry and cottony, as if he'd swallowed nothing but sand for days. He tried to swallow, but ended up coughing and gagging briefly instead. He didn't hear what was said to make his mother return silently to the sofa.

"Undermining me," the stranger spoke, refocusing her attention on Draco, "is something you should have learned never to do, by now." She studied him.

"What…" Draco coughed. "What do you mean, by now?"

She laughed, turning back to Narcissa.

"He was always an inquisitive sort, wasn't he?"

Narcissa smiled faintly and nodded.

Draco slowly sat up, blinking away the nagging ache in his head. He squeezed his fingers around his wand. What would a cleansing spell do, if repeated over and over? Would the recipient eventually drown? Perhaps –

"_No_." The stranger's eyes flashed and Draco felt his wand ripped away, flying straight into her outstretched hand. He forced himself to breathe slowly as his best chance of escape vanished beneath many folds of robes.

"Leave my mother alone," Draco said, keeping his voice calm and unemotional. "I'll come with you, or whatever it is you want. Just leave her be."

Once again, the stranger laughed. It was a laugh devoid of any humor, one that delighted only the pain and confusion of others. It sounded like Voldemort's laugh.

"What I want," she spoke softly, kneeling in front of him. "Is for you to go to sleep."

She murmured a few words, and Draco knew no more.

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

When Hermione failed to arrive for dinner that night, failed to contact him in any manner, and further failed to attest for her absence by the following evening, Harry knew something must be wrong. Hermione, after all, was the responsible one. She was the one who had once used a rather dangerous magical object in order to take twice as many classes as everyone else. Hermione was the one who kept them all in line.

Harry gritted his teeth and stuck his head into the fireplace.

"Hello?" he called. He didn't bother going through the normal channels, as Hermione had given him access to this fireplace in case of emergencies. Though he fervently hoped otherwise, Harry had deemed this an emergency.

A moment later, a rather imposing witch came into view. Despite her cheery name, Merrily Merryweather reminded Harry of a harsher, and perhaps stricter version of McGonagall. Merlin help them all.

"Ms. Merryweather," Harry greeted, smiling tightly. "I was wondering if I could speak with Hermione Granger? It's a bit of an emergency."

Merryweather's severe eyebrows arched into an even more severe line. "You mean she didn't tell you?"

Harry blinked. "Tell me what?"

"Ms. Granger was accepted into a training program for the Department of Mysteries, Mr. Potter," she explained in a flat voice. "What she is learning is of the utmost secrecy, you understand. She'll be unable to contact anyone for six weeks."

Harry had never been particularly good at reading people, he supposed he still wasn't, but he _was _good at something else: predicting his friends. Disappearing into a secret training program, within a department she had never previously expressed an interest in, was not something Hermione was likely to do.

He stared for a long moment, letting a genuine display of shock sweep across his features, before saying anything further. "Um… alright. She's alright though? I mean, it's not anything dangerous?"

Merryweather chuckled, though the smile failed to reach her eyes. "Knowledge, Mr. Potter, is never dangerous. I assure you, everything is fine. Now, I must insist we free up this fireplace for other callers. I'm sure you understand."

_No! _Harry wanted to yell. _I don't understand a fucking thing! _

Instead, he simply nodded and withdrew his head.

Back in the quiet confines of his own flat, Harry sunk down on the couch and let out a slow breath of air. Dread and fear, real, gut-wrenching fear, were not emotions he was terribly fond of, and they were not emotions he was particularly acquainted with nowadays either. But something was wrong.

_You think too much with your gut, Harry, _he'd once been told. Quick-thinking, fast-acting, sheer acts of bravado were Harry's forte, and his gut instinct almost always right. Ron had always been at his side though, ready to lend a helping hand, Hermione at the other, ready with wit and knowledge that came quicker to her than many. Later there had been -

Harry shook his head, unwilling to let his thoughts wander into such dark territory.

He wouldn't call Ron, not yet, since Harry knew he would come charging back without a second thought. Really, there was no else he trusted that fully, aside from Hermione. And so he didn't immediately jump up and charge out the door. Harry thought. He really thought.

For several minutes he mulled over possible scenarios, each unlikely as the last, but his mind always came back to a similar point. Hermione had hinted at something, though Harry remained completely in the dark as to what it was, something she had been onto, perhaps a conspiracy of sorts. He had noticed her behavior change weeks ago. And now, with an idea that all of this was somehow connected, he remembered the one thing that had bothered Hermione enough to open up:

Draco Malfoy.

* * *

The Manor was dark. That was the first thing Harry noticed after Apparating past the wards. He supposed that shouldn't have come as a surprise, on one hand, considering the lateness of the hour. On the other, he half-expected Draco to be waiting for his arrival, annoyed, agitated, and just as worried about Hermione as himself. But perhaps not.

No one greeted Harry at the door, and he frowned. The wards, unless the Ministry had managed to completely rework them, were connected to the house, and more importantly, to the occupants within. Even if Draco and his mother were both asleep, the house-elves should have greeted him.

Harry held his wand steadily in front of him, allowing his eyes to roam the front room, or what little he could see of it given the limited lighting. It looked perfectly normal. Nothing seemed out of order, a bit formal maybe, but Harry suspected a messy Malfoy Manor would be considerably more alarming than this museum-like one.

"Hello?" he called, not bothering to stay quiet. A bell chimed in response, marking midnight.

"Is anybody here?" he called again. His frown deepened. Taking careful precaution not to disturb the room, Harry started forward. He swung his wand in a casual arc, back and forth, to see in front of him, though the moonlight streaming through the many windows did help. He called out every few feet or so, but the silence of the house remained stubbornly intact, and he quickly decided for a more direct approach. At the moment, he didn't much care about its invasiveness.

Harry placed his wand in the palm of his hand and watched it carefully. "Point me, Draco Malfoy," he said softly. His wand twitched, shuddered, and turned painstakingly to the left. Harry let out a breath and followed.

Several hallways and one staircase later, his wand moved a final time, pointing Harry directly to a set of elegant French doors. The doors were open ever so slightly. No sound came from within. Again, he raised his wand in a defensive gesture, preparing for whatever lay beyond. With his free hand, Harry gently pushed open the cracked door and stepped inside.

Over the course of many years, Harry had trained for the unknown, whether or not he realized it at the time. Defeating a possessed professor through simple touch, escaping a graveyard with his life intact, walking into a forest knowing his life would end - Harry didn't feel like much could surprise him any longer. And he had taken it upon himself _not _to let anything surprise him, ever again. Control was a commodity Harry had lacked for the majority of his life, and he therefore would not allow even the slightly shocking sight of an unconscious former schoolmate unnerve him.

Draco was sprawled unceremoniously on the floor, limbs arranged in such a way that left Harry with little doubt that he'd fallen, rather than lay down of his own accord. But he was breathing, Harry saw, crouching beside him.

"_Rennervate_," Harry said, waving his wand in a simple motion. Nothing happened, and Harry blinked. "_Finite Incantatem_," he tried.

Draco's eyes snapped open.

His gaze was instantly wild and alarmed, and he rolled away before Harry could react, his deep, panting breaths breaking the silence of the room. He coughed harshly, and he coughed more, seemingly unable to catch his breath. Harry feared he was hyperventilating.

"Malfoy," Harry spoke slowly, soothingly. "Calm down. I'm not here to hurt you. Just calm down, alright?"

Holding himself upright on shaky arms, Draco glared at him.

"Have you ever been subjected - " he paused to cough, " - to a prolonged sleeping spell, Potter?" Draco grimaced, turned his head away, and became promptly sick all over the floor.

Harry made a face, standing and stepping quickly away. He noticed Draco wasn't entirely able to miss his own arms and hands.

"What the hell happened to you?" Harry asked. He sat down, cross-legged, but didn't bother lowering his wand. Draco barely seemed to notice, or at least he didn't seem to care, as he continued to dry-heave for several more seconds. Finally, pale and trembling bodily, he managed to sit up, leaning heavily against the sofa opposite Harry.

"Why the fuck do you care?" Draco spat, staring daggers into Harry. "Why are you even in my home?"

Harry scowled and raised his wand threateningly. "Would you rather I put you back to sleep? We'll see how long it is before someone else comes to check on you."

Draco paled further, his eyes going wide, and Harry immediately felt like a bastard. He winced slightly and sat forward.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you. I already told you that," he said, watching Draco carefully for a reaction. "I'm here for Hermione."

"Granger?" Draco's glare lessened somewhat, possibly in confusion, and his eyes flickered back and forth for a moment. "She left… earlier today, I think… Why would you think she's still here?"

Harry narrowed his gaze. "Earlier today? I thought she only met with you on Thursdays?" The answer jumped to mind almost instantly and Harry stared at Draco for several seconds. "Do you mean you've been lying there since _yesterday_?"

Any remaining dredges of color had vanished from Draco's face, making him appear nearly translucent in the dim light. He took a few deep breaths.

"It's Friday?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Well, technically, it's Saturday. It's a bit past midnight by now. Malfoy, what happened? Did Hermione do that to you?"

"I don't know," Draco murmured, looking away. Harry watched as he squinted his eyes, as if he was searching for something, before shaking his head. "I don't think so."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I _don't know_, Potter," Draco snarled. His glare resumed its full force. "I remember her leaving. Yesterday, apparently. After that –" He broke off, wincing, bringing a hand up to massage his temple.

Resisting the urge to knead away his own growing headache, Harry pressed on. "Okay, Hermione left. Then what?" Draco didn't answer, his eyes even shutting briefly. "_Malfoy_," Harry snapped.

Draco glanced up and Harry clenched his fists. The angry glare of seconds before had transformed, seemingly instantly, into a mask of shuttered indifference. This was the side of him Harry had never conquered, had never been able to understand. How could someone, especially someone with emotions raging so strongly through their entire being, simply shut them off?

"I don't know, Potter," Draco spoke evenly. His voice was cool and reserved. "I can't remember. I'm fairly positive it has nothing to do with Hermione Granger though, so you might as well leave."

"I'm not going anywhere until I figure out what the fuck is going on!" Harry nearly shouted, jumping to his feet. Draco may have been able to shelve away his emotions at a moment's notice, but Harry was not. "Hermione told me something was going on." He began to pace. "I don't know what it was, but I know both you and your mother have something to do with it."

Draco watched him silently from his spot against the wall. Harry's irritation increased.

"Do you know what it was? So help me, Malfoy, if you've done something to her –"

"Where is she?" Draco interrupted, suddenly struggling to get to his feet.

Harry eyed him belligerently. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"Not –" Draco stumbled slightly as he took a step forward. "Not _Granger_. My mother. How did you get in here without her knowing? The wards…" He stumbled again; obviously his legs were not ready to support him so soon. Harry moved forward, ready to assist if he started to fall.

"_Don't _touch me, Potter."

Harry's hand froze in midair. Perplexed, he backed away a few steps, raising his hands in a motion of surrender. Draco's words had been soft, nearly imperceptible, but the utter malice in them unmistakable. Harry searched his face, frowning. A flicker of emotion passed there, but the cool mask fell smoothly back in place before Harry could distinguish it.

"I don't think she's here," Harry explained slowly. "Not even your house-elves greeted me when I came in. But…" He frowned again, this time at himself. "House-elves can't just leave, though…"

Draco blinked a few times, his gaze skittering across the room. "Not unless their master frees them," he murmured. "And I'm their master."

"You?" Harry asked. "Not your mother? Maybe she took them with her… wherever she went."

"No." Draco shook his head, not really looking at Harry. His face hardened. "I'm the only one who could tell them to leave."

Harry didn't understand, and as the situation passed further and further beyond his control, he felt a familiar anger tugging at his gut. It was telling him to act, to lash out, to _do something_.

"Potter…"

"What?" Harry snapped, jerking his head up. For a second, he thought Draco had moved out of the room, but he quickly realized he'd only taken a seat a few feet away. In Draco's hand, he held a half-full teacup, his grey eyes fixed steadfastly to it. And, though it didn't seem possible, he appeared even paler.

"What is it?" Harry repeated irritably.

Draco swirled the tea around, not looking up. "The wards just went off," he spoke softly. "I think it's the Aurors. You should probably go."

* * *

With something akin to fascination, Draco watched Harry's face harden with genuine anger, possibly even rage, his green eyes flashing brilliantly. His whole body tensed at the mention of Aurors, and Draco had no idea why.

"We have to leave," Harry snapped in a voice that threatened against any argument. "_Now_."

Draco leaned back, staring. "What the fuck are you talking about?" He clenched his fists, grinding his nails into his palm, hoping the china cup would shatter under the pressure.

"Malfoy," Harry paused with a glance toward the hall, "if they find you here, I don't know what's going to happen. Now get up!"

"No!" Draco shouted back, slamming the cup down. It broke, fragmenting jaggedly in his palm. Blood welled up and smeared on the glass. "You know I can't leave, Potter! I can't…" He trailed off, unsure whether it was a sob or laugh bubbling in his chest. A small tingle raced up his arms then – the wards informing him the Aurors had just entered the front doors.

"I hear them," Harry said, almost simultaneously. Moving quicker than Draco would've given him credit for, he grabbed Draco's arm with bruising force and pulled him to his feet.

Draco balked, struggling violently against Harry's grip, and ended up stumbling backwards and tripping to the floor. He landed with a grunt, but quickly scooted away as Harry took a step toward him.

Draco sneered. "Get the fuck away from me, Potter!"

"Goddamnit, Malfoy," Harry hissed. "I'm trying to help you!"

"Harry Potter?"

The room was abruptly bathed in light, causing Draco to shield his eyes, unable at first to make out the three silhouetted figures standing just inside the room.

"Auror Lamb," Harry greeted. He took a step that placed him slightly in front of Draco.

The foremost Auror, a tall wizard with a jagged scar running through one eye, cocked his head and didn't lower his wand.

"What the hell are you doing here, Harry?" he asked softly, coolly.

Harry shrugged. Though Draco couldn't see the expression of his face, he could see Harry's hand tighten around his wand, held tensely beside one leg.

"Visiting an old friend," Harry replied in an equally cool voice. "I didn't realize there was a law against that."

Lamb narrowed his eyes. "An old friend?" His calculating gaze shifted down, meeting Draco's. Draco stared back icily and hoped the confusion he felt didn't show on his face.

"Yes," Harry said tersely, "an old friend. Do you mind? We were having a conversation."

"You know as well as I do that he's on parole, Harry," Lamb continued. "No visitors allowed. So congratulations. You've just sent him back to Azkaban." He glanced back to Draco. "Good friend you've got there."

"Fuck you," Draco ground out, rising slowly, and a bit unsteadily, to his feet. He could feel his body shaking, from fear, anger, shock - he wasn't sure which. "_Fuck you_."

Lamb's face split into a malicious grin. "Verbally abusing an Auror, Malfoy. Tsk tsk. You should know better than that."

"Both of you," Harry snapped. "Shut up. Lamb, what the hell do you want? You know I came here on my own, not because he asked me. What do you want with him?"

"I have my orders, Harry." Lamb sneered. "Not that you would know anything about following orders. Or so I've heard… _Stupify_!"

The spell flew forward - a bolt of red light that should have moved too fast for Draco's eyes to follow - and dissolved into the nothingness of the shield Harry had erected without saying a single word. Draco stared, first at the shimmering blue shield, then at Harry. Harry's eyes were intent, focused, full of power and control.

"Potter –" Draco started.

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

The Aurors scrambled for their wands and began firing spell after spell, each bouncing or dissolving into the blanket of silver-blue light surrounding both Harry and Draco.

_Has Potter always been this powerful? _Draco wondered bemusedly.

"Malfoy," Harry said sharply, his voice slightly strained. "In a second, I'm going to drop the shield and Apparate. You can either hold onto my arm now or I'm going to drag you out of here. Got it?"

Part of Draco wanted to argue about how he was doing this, another wanted to stay and face the Aurors, face the inevitable, and still another part wanted to grab a hold, much as he'd done one fateful night three years past, and ride out of there on the whirlwind that called itself Harry-Fucking-Potter.

Draco wrapped his arm through Harry's. "You better not fucking splinch me, Potter."

A half-smile formed on Harry's lips and he dropped the shield.

Side-Along Apparition was, by far, not Draco's favorite way to travel, especially when the person doing the actual Apparition had little or no time to prepare. After their bodies had realigned once more, Draco stumbled to his knees and wretched. He coughed and gagged, wishing his insides didn't feel like a bludger had been rampaging through them. He was only vaguely aware that Harry had dropped to his knees beside him and still held tightly to his arm.

"Are you alright?" Harry sounded apologetic. "I'm sorry. I'm complete shit at Side-Along."

Draco managed to sit up a little more. He swiped at his streaming eyes, not really caring if Harry saw.

"I had to Side-Along Ron once," Harry kept talking, almost rambling. "He'd eaten something bad, so I was taking him to St. Mungo's. He threw up so much after we Apparated though, I think he got it all out of his system before we even got to the Healers."

"Potter," Draco groaned. "I'm feeling a bit nauseous right now, and horror stories about the Weasel and his putrid self really aren't helping."

Harry's grip tightened slightly on his arm. Draco winced and turned his head away.

"Sorry," Harry said. His voice hardened. "Come on. There's a bed you can sleep in. We'll talk in the morning."

Draco didn't see that he had much choice in allowing Harry to help him up, so he didn't resist. He wasn't entirely able, however, to quell the shivers that coursed through his body each time a bit of Harry's warmth seeped through his touch. Harry gave him an odd look, which Draco met stubbornly, and said nothing.

"Where exactly are we?" Draco asked, glancing around. He didn't recognize the house, but there was something oddly familiar about it nonetheless.

"Grimmauld Place," Harry answered as they maneuvered slowly up a flight of stairs. "It belonged to Sirius Black. Now it's mine."

Draco didn't reply. There had been a lot of rumor and speculation surrounding Sirius Black, even more concerning the nature of his relationship with Harry. Draco supposed, now, there was probably more truth to it than he'd realized.

"But…" he glanced sharply at Harry. "Surely the Ministry knows you own it. They'll find us in no time."

Harry shook his head. "No. They won't." He paused to open a door. "You can stay in here. The bathroom's connected."

Shrugging free of Harry, Draco walked into the room. Save for a canopied bed and a sparsely threaded rug, it was completely empty.

"Real nice, Potter," he quipped. "It's –"

Harry was gone. Feeling irrationally angry for being dismissed so quickly, Draco slammed the door shut and listened to it echo satisfyingly down the hall.

"Fuck you, too," Draco muttered, wrapping his arms around himself. His hand twinged and he glanced at his left palm, which still bled sluggishly.

The bathroom, as he soon discovered, contained nothing but toilet paper, a towel, and a washcloth. Nothing else. Not even toothpaste. Shaking harder than before, Draco ran his hand under a stream of lukewarm water and proceeded to wrap it as best he could with the washcloth. He cursed loudly when the makeshift bandage barely circled his hand twice.

Cold and miserable, refusing to entertain the dozens of thoughts racing through his mind, Draco crawled into the strange bed and closed his eyes.

* * *

TBC


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

_Many-eyed snakes watch him intently, tongues flicking, tasting the air, tasting him. _What are you doing here_? they ask. A black and silver snake wraps around Harry's wrist, sinks her fangs deeply into his flesh. He is paralyzed, unable to do anything as the blood flows quickly from his body. The black and silver snake grows larger and stronger as Harry diminishes. _Please, take me with you_… Harry pleads, sinking to his knees. All the snakes hiss. Perhaps they are discussing his request, Harry thinks as his eyes fall shut. His eyes reopen. He is staring at his own body. He is the snake. _

_ Snakes and lifeless eyes dissolve into a rocky, wind-blown beach. Harry smiles. He walks, barefoot, along the edge of lapping waves. The water should be freezing, but it caresses his skin like warm silk, sending shivers of pleasure shooting through his legs, his arms, his chest and belly. He hasn't felt this good in a long time._

_ He is unsure how long he's been walking when he glimpses movement on the shore. Sitting beneath the rocks, no, inside the rocks, is another person, knees drawn upward, shaking and murmuring soft words Harry can't discern. Harry frowns. He cannot understand how this newcomer can be uncomfortable here. Deciding to share the secrets of the water, he steps closer and raises a hand in greeting. The person looks up. _

Malfoy_? Harry calls. He finds nothing strange about his presence. _Come with me. You'll feel better. I promise. _He extends his other hand. _

_ Draco's grey eyes connect with Harry's and Harry stumbles to his knees. Gasping, he sees blood pouring from his hands, feels it gurgling in his lungs, tastes it leaking from his nose. His heart pounds painfully with fear, anger, shock, sadness. He gasps, _the water… the water. Come with me, please… please. We'll both be alright…

_ Draco continues to stare, lifting a hand to wipe at his forehead. Then he stares at his hand, as if expecting to find blood there as well. _No_, he whispers, _we won't_._

* * *

With a hoarse cry, Harry lurched from his dream-world back into the reality of his bedroom. His heart really was pounding, he discovered. He glanced down at his hands, half expecting to find them slick with blood. There was none.

Reaching across his bed, he snatched a small, leather-bound book and a quill from the night-stand and began hastily scribbling down all he could remember about the dream. _Nightmare_, he corrected himself. Dreams generally didn't end in both dying and bleeding to death from various orifices.

_Snakes… beach… blood… _Harry jotted several times, tapping his quill against the page after each word, biting his lip and straining for further details. An inkblot flooded steadily from the tip each time he lingered a bit too long; after a few minutes, splotches of glossy black had nearly overtaken everything. Harry sighed and leaned back against the headboard.

They weren't unusual, these dreams. For months after defeating Voldemort he'd been plagued by them, practically every night, unable to forget during the day. Over the years, the dreams had grown more and more abstract - sometimes he couldn't remember at all.

_Another person, _he thought suddenly, scribbling it down immediately. Someone else, not a menacing presence for once, had been there. Someone in equal pain to his own… Could it have been Hermione?

Interrupting his musings, a muffled thump from the next room startled Harry enough to lurch forward, nearly spilling everything all over the floor. He cursed softly and set everything back on his nightstand. The thump came again, this time accompanied by a distinctly human moan. Harry scowled.

Leaving Draco on his own, or at least that was what he'd believed, had been a test of sorts. Under a quick Disillusionment charm, Harry had leaned against the wall a few feet away and listened to Draco's "fuck you's" with a slight smile. And when Draco went into the room with no further action, Harry, feeling satisfied, walked quietly into his own room, directly next door, and went to bed.

Harry lurched to his feet after an even louder moan sounded through the walls. Irritated, shirtless, and generally disheveled, he threw open the door to both their rooms, not even bothering to knock, an angry admonishment ready on the tip of his tongue - and froze.

Draco's body was contorted and twisted in the sheets, his arms and hands splayed at his sides, gripping with bruising intensity, his breaths coming in labored pants.

Fascinated and appalled, Harry took a step closer.

"Malfoy?" he called, very softly.

Draco threw his head back, exposing the pale flesh of his throat, currently flushed and mottled red. He groaned, a sound of clear distress, rather than what Harry had imagined, his entire body straining upward against some invisible force.

Feeling awkward and a bit voyeuristic to be witnessing any of this, Harry stepped closer still and touched his hand tentatively to Draco's.

"Malfoy?" He shook him gently. "Malfoy, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

Draco stiffened, he seemed to stop breathing altogether for a few moments, and then his eyes snapped open. He stared at Harry.

"Um," Harry said, quickly withdrawing his hand. "Um, sorry. You were - you - you woke me up."

Moving slowly and rather jerkily, Draco sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. His eyes never left Harry's.

"What do you want, Potter?" he asked softly.

Harry swallowed, feeling more and more stupid for ever leaving his room.

"You scream like a girl, Malfoy," he settled for, crossing his arms. "I can't sleep through that."

Draco regarded him for a moment. "Whatever, Potter. I'm awake now. So feel free to get the fuck out of my room."

"It's _my _room, Malfoy," Harry snapped. "In case you'd forgotten. Be thankful I didn't leave you to sleep on the back porch."

"How exactly could I forget?" Draco said icily, narrowing his eyes. "Thanks to you, I have no home, no family, and no freedom."

For a brief second, Harry considered turning and leaving without another word. After all, they were both tired and out-of-sorts; things would surely be said that neither of them meant. But that inclination passed quickly.

"Thanks to me, you're not sitting in your old cell in Azkaban! Or who knows? At the rate you were going, those Aurors probably would've been pissed off enough to make your death look like a fortunate accident. They've certainly had –" Harry bit his tongue. "The point is, you're not in prison or dead, so you should be fucking thanking me."

"Good to know you haven't changed," Draco replied, remaining stubbornly calm even in his child-like pose. "Still trying to play savior. Still failing miserably."

"Oh, fuck _off_," Harry groaned. He took a step closer, pointed his finger threateningly. "You're utterly ridiculous, do you know that? Arguing with you, it's – god, it's like arguing when we were eleven! Grow up already!"

Draco laughed. Actually threw his head back and laughed.

Harry re-crossed his arms and stared at him incredulously. "What?" he snapped, feeling his face redden slightly.

"Grow up?" Draco repeated. The smirk on his face didn't disappear, but it did change slightly, grew harsher in the dim light. "Grow up?" he said again. "How exactly was I supposed to do that, Potter, under the close and rather… intense tutelage of the Dark Lord?" He sat forward, unfolding his arms and legs. "Or after, sitting in my comfy cell in Azkaban? I didn't exactly do a lot of socializing. Sometimes I went weeks without talking to a single person, did you know that?"

"Because you're such a pleasure to talk to," Harry grumbled, breaking eye-contact. "I'm going back to bed. Next time I'll leave you alone, since apparently that's what you're used to."

Draco watched him silently for a moment. "I never asked you to help me, you know."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Haven't we been through this? You're my only link to Hermione and whatever it is she's involved in. I'm –"

"I'm not talking about that," Draco interrupted, scowling. He flopped back on the bed; Harry could no longer see his face. "I'm talking about three years ago… at Hogwarts."

"You – what?" Harry stared. "But… why? I mean, why would – why would you even say that? You would've died…"

Draco steepled his fingers across his stomach. "Maybe that would've been for the best."

An all too familiar anger bubbled in Harry's gut, flashes of lost witches and wizards, lost friends, passing before his eyes.

"You bastard," he growled. Moving fast, he stepped forward, grabbed Draco's arm and yanked harshly upward. "You are such a _fucking bastard_. Do you have any idea how goddamn lucky you are to be alive? Do you?"

"What the fuck do you know?" Draco said softly, shrinking back but not exactly struggling. He glanced at Harry's hand. "Is this how you get your way when you were an Auror, Potter? Manhandling people?"

Harry tightened his fist, hardly aware how deep his fingers were digging into Draco's flesh. "How did you know I was an Auror?"

"I didn't," Draco replied, raising an eyebrow. "Now I do."

"Shit." With a final squeeze, Harry pulled back his hand and watched with a faint twinge of guilt as Draco wrapped his arms around himself, the haughty expression he wore barely concealing the wince as he moved. Sighing, Harry sunk down at the edge of the mattress. "You didn't answer me."

"About what?" Draco snapped, shifting further away from him.

"I said," Harry spoke slowly, "do you know how lucky you are?" When no reply came, he continued. "There are a lot worse things than death, you know. You could be in the insanity ward at St. Mungo's, you could be permanently injured from a curse, you could be rotting away in prison for the rest of your life." He stared hard at Draco. "You're lucky."

Grey, emotionless eyes blinked back at him. "Whatever you say, Potter. That's me: luckiest Death Eater around."

"You were never a Death Eater," Harry said harshly, glancing away. "I know you weren't."

"You don't know anything about me, Potter," Draco replied mildly. He looked away, hugged his arms a bit more tightly about his chest. "You have no idea what I am."

Harry sighed. "Yes, I do. I'm not…" he sighed again. "I'm not just trying to be nice – not that you would ever take it like that anyway. I used to see…things. Things –"

"That the Dark Lord saw?" Draco interrupted.

Harry gaped at him, momentarily too awash in astonishment to form a response. Glancing sideways at him, Draco scowled very slightly before returning his gaze elsewhere.

"Believe it or not, I'm not stupid," he said slowly. "I spent the entire time we were at Hogwarts trying to get under your skin, Potter. How exactly did you think I would not put two and two together eventually? Especially when you started collapsing all over yourself in fifth year, ranting and raving about your oh so dreadful life. And my dear Aunt Bellatrix…" His shoulders tensed visibly for a moment. "Bellatrix was insane, as even _you _may have gathered. She may have dropped one too many hints, at one point or another."

"So you knew?" Harry shook his head. "What did you think it was? I mean, you knew I had some kind of connection to Voldemort" – Draco flinched – "and you never gave me up? Or is that…" Harry paused, looking up sharply. "That's why you didn't give me away at the Manor. Isn't it? And why you wouldn't let Crabbe and Goyle kill me?"

Draco raised his eyes slowly. "You really are amazing, you know that? No matter how many times I tell you the entire world doesn't revolve around you, it never sinks in. It always comes back to you, Potter. I couldn't possibly have any other sort of motivation that had nothing to do with you."

Harry tightened his hands into fists. "I never said that."

Draco laughed. "No. You really didn't have to."

* * *

"Do you have to be so bloody difficult?" Harry growled. He shifted his weight on the bed. "I'm trying to have a normal conversation, not start another stupid fight."

Draco tensed, aware that Harry was minutely closer. He was also distinctly aware of the throbbing in his injured hand, now accompanied by the finger-shaped bruises forming on his arm.

"Fine," he snapped. "Talk away. You've always seemed quite enraptured by the sound of your own voice, after all."

Risking a short glance, Draco saw Harry's face battling with different emotions – probably to act like an adult and walk away, or do as he'd always done, and give into the bait.

"Fine." Harry stood up quickly. "I'll leave. I'm sorry I thought we could actually discuss things like two normal people."

Draco unfolded his arms, not sure why he suddenly felt so alarmed, and glared at the other man. "And who the fuck said either of us were normal?"

When Harry didn't turn around, he continued. "Maybe I've known this whole time where your Mudblood is, Potter. Maybe this was all a big setup and you're just too stupid to see it. Maybe she's lying dead in a ditch somewhere. You –"

Though in reality it lasted just short of three minutes, Draco had not felt the attack of a true Legilimens in years, and therefore it seemed to press on for hours. Harry was powerful, that much was already obvious, but it was his brutal technique that sent Draco scrambling to defend himself. On some distant level, he could feel his body shuddering and thrashing with effort, but in his mind he swerved and darted with well-trained agility, throwing up walls of defense, random memories of distraction. And still Harry pressed on. Whereas Voldemort has been all sharp edges and slicing blades, Harry was a battering ram, relying on sheer force to clear his way. Draco panicked, feeling Harry closing in on the desired memory – the memory that not even Draco could remember. He didn't know why, but the memory should be left alone. Neither of them were supposed to touch it. Harry couldn't –

Draco cried out, suddenly slammed back into his body with such force that he slid off the bed and landed in an ungraceful heap on the floor. His mind throbbed, sparks of white light flashed in his vision and he clutched desperately at his head.

"Malfoy…"

Another hand gripped gently around his own. Draco shuddered, in too much pain to back away. And then a cool wind wrapped itself around him, nudging away the worst of it, enough so he could squint open his eyes and see Harry kneeling above him.

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly, catching his eye as he silently intoned another healing spell. "There's some kind of block in your mind, more powerful than a memory spell even. I didn't realize pressing on it would hurt you so much." He lowered his wand. "Is that better?"

Swallowing thickly, Draco lowered his hands and slowly sat up. "Maybe I put it there myself," he whispered hoarsely. "To keep you from finding out."

Harry gave him a look. "What happened to your hand?" he asked, catching Draco's injured palm in his own. "It looks infected."

Before Draco could reply, Harry's wand waved again and the jagged, red line knit itself and returned to pale, unmarked skin. Draco stared at him.

"I'm going to make breakfast," Harry said after a few moments. He stood. "We can talk more then."

Draco watched in continued silence as Harry left the room, shutting the door very gently behind him. Shaking slightly, though he wasn't exactly sure why, he got to his feet and headed after him.

* * *

"I never realized you were such a good Occlumens," Harry spoke, setting two plates down on the table. "I was always shit at it."

Draco shrugged uncomfortably, keeping his eyes focused on the heaping plate of burnt toast before him. "You're shit at a lot of things, Potter. Occlumency, school… making toast."

He could hear Harry's breath hitch, but the moment passed and when he glanced up, Harry was even smiling slightly, looking his way.

"Not that you'll probably believe me," he replied, sitting, "but I had quite a lot on my mind back in school. My priorities tended to be… elsewhere."

Draco snorted.

Harry grip tightened on his fork. "What?"

"I know us mortal beings often fall beneath your radar, oh chosen one," Draco said with a slight sneer. "But you do realize other people can have problems too? Doesn't make them all bloody awful students."

It may have been his imagination, but Draco could swear he saw all trace of color drain from Harry's face with that comment. He frowned curiously. Hadn't the papers been calling him the "chosen one" since the summer before they'd turned sixteen?

"Sensitive about your O.W.L. scores, Potter?" he tried.

"Fuck off, Malfoy." Harry replied casually. He speared a sausage. "_Anyway_, I was trying to give you a compliment about your Occlumency. It's really good."

Rather sure it was in his best interest to not push any further, Draco shrugged again. "What can I say. I learned from the best."

"Bellatrix Lestrange, you mean." Harry said. It was more of a comment, than question. "Did Snape teach you as well?"

Draco refocused on his toast. "Who's been spying on who?" he mumbled, fastidiously buttering and spreading jam over the bread. He knew, at least somewhat, how Harry had followed him during their sixth year. He hadn't realized Harry had ever been close enough to overhear _that_ much detail, however.

"No," he answered, a few minutes later, not looking up. "But I'm sure he would've helped me improve. Professor Snape was a good teacher" – and waited for the explosion. When none came, he raised his eyes and found Harry watching him intently. "What?" he snapped.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing." He looked away and took another giant bite of sausage. Draco wrinkled his nose as the overly salty aroma wafted across the table, fatty juice forming a small puddle on Harry's plate. He felt faintly ill.

"So what about you?" he asked, hoping to distract his queasy stomach. "Where and why did you learn Legilimency? Or did you just get real inspired by the Dark Lord?"

Now Harry looked a bit uncomfortable. "After _Voldemort_ died, I decided to learn. Not to…" he sighed. "I didn't learn because I wanted to use it like him. You know, to force people into… It was more for defense, I guess."

Draco crossed his arms. "Defense?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Because I could never master Occlumency, alright? If the only way to defend my mind is to jump in before someone else can do the same, well, it works."

"So forcing your way into my mind without so much of a warning was defense?" Draco said coolly. "And considering how surprised you are, you obviously didn't think I could put up much of a fight. So tell me, Potter, how exactly is that any different than the Dark Lord?"

"I had to make sure you weren't lying," Harry replied in a sharp voice. "That's why you were saying those things anyway, am I right? You were trying to pick a fight, Malfoy. It's not my fault you didn't know what you were getting into."

Draco leaned back in his chair, not breaking eye-contact. He'd been searching for a nerve, and it was quite apparent he'd finally found one. Harry's cheeks were flushed and his green eyes seemed to flash brighter than normal as he glared angrily across the table.

"How does it make you feel?" Draco asked softly. "Knowing you have complete control over someone when you break through their shields. Knowing all their secrets, exploiting them." He stared, fascinated, as a vein in Harry's temple began to throb. "Does it get you off? Did watching me throw up every ounce of strength, and still being able to break through, do it for you, Potter? Do you ever wonder if the – if Voldemort felt the same way?"

"Shut up!" Harry slammed a fist down on the table, causing all the dishes and silverware to rattle noisily, making Draco flinch. "Just shut the _fuck_ up, Malfoy," he growled, lowering his voice. "You know you're good at making me angry – I know you know – but you really need to _shut up_. Alright? Just…"

"Just what?" Draco continued, wishing he could do as Harry said and simply shut his goddamn mouth. But after three years of doing exactly that, he was finding it harder and harder to do so. "You want to have another go? I didn't give you much time to finish earlier, after all."

Harry stared hard at him. "What is it with you? Why do you always want to fucking fight? I figured after all that time, first with Voldemort, then in bloody Azkaban, you'd want to give it a rest already. I can't imagine what it must have been like for you in there, acting like this all the fucking time. Honestly, I'm amazed you're still in one piece."

Blood rushed to Draco's head. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears as Harry continued.

"You know, Hermione told me you seemed strange," Harry said. He laughed. "She said you didn't 'seem like you'. Maybe she just doesn't know you as well as I do."

"And, again, what makes you think you know me, Potter?" Draco ground out, clenching his hands in his lap.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Gee, I don't know," he replied sarcastically. "Maybe because we've been in the same school since we were eleven, and because your dad's been trying to kill me since I was twelve. Oh, and how about how I was one of the only people alive willing to vouch for the fact that you're _not_ a soulless Death Eater." He glared at Draco. "So yeah, I'd say I know you pretty damn well."

"'Pretty damn well'?" Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Give me a fucking break, Potter. You know me about as well as I know Sirius Black. And considering he's _dead_, I'd say that's not too great."

Harry flushed deep red, his annoyed glare transforming into a look of pure, unadulterated loathing.

"Shut up about him, Malfoy," he growled.

"Actually, you know what?" Draco continued, pleased he'd found something painful to pick at Harry about. He deserved it, after all. "I probably know him better than you. He did spend half his pathetic life rotting away in Azkaban, didn't he? That makes us much more closely related than you ever were, sick as it makes me to say it."

Much to Draco's bewilderment, Harry's anger seemed to abruptly deflate just then, leaving only a vaguely annoyed expression in its wake.

"You're such a prick," he said. "You know that, right?"

Feeling a bit unsettled by this oddly controlled version of Harry, Draco merely shrugged.

Harry watched him for a moment. "You're right, I guess." He sighed, glancing away. "He spent practically his whole life imprisoned, one way or another…So tell me about it, Malfoy."

"Tell you about _what_?" Draco snapped. He shifted uncomfortably.

Harry looked up, straight in the eyes. "Azkaban."

Draco blinked. A dozen responses jumped to his lips almost immediately, none of which he would ever voice aloud, so he settled for a tight laugh.

"Feather pillows and cuddly baby animals, Potter. What else?"

"I'm not…" Harry paused, continuing to scrutinize him closely. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. Even with the Dementors gone, I can imagine –"

"No," Draco interrupted sharply. "No, you really can't, Potter. You don't…" he stopped abruptly, biting his tongue. When he looked back up, Harry was watching him even more intently than before.

"Potter," he went on slowly, forcing himself to maintain eye-contact, "let's make a deal, alright?" He swallowed thickly. "I'll shut up about the Dark Lord, and Sirius Black… And you stay the fuck out of my business. Deal?"

Draco clenched his hands tighter as Harry continued sitting quietly for a moment or two. Finally, he nodded.

"Okay," he replied. "I'll stay out of your business – if you stay out of mine. Which means," Harry pointed a finger threateningly, "you can't pick a fight out of every single thing I say, alright? If we're ever going to figure out what happened to Hermione, _and _your mother, we're going to have to work together, not be jumping down each other's throats constantly." He paused meaningfully. "Deal?"

Draco let out a breath and allowed himself to look away. "Fine." He picked up his now-soggy toast and bit into it with a grimace. "So where the fuck do we start?"

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Draco watched with veiled interest as Harry muttered to himself and tossed yet another book into the rapidly growing pile by his side. The Potter he knew had barely known how to read, at least as far as Draco was concerned at the time, and yet here he was, fastidiously perusing through books for the third – Draco checked the clock – no, fourth hour straight.

"Find something?" Harry asked, apparently noticing Draco had stopped turning pages.

Draco frowned and tossed his own book into the pile.

"We're not getting anywhere with this, Potter. And you know it."

Arms sore from holding useless books for too long, Draco stretched his hands above his head. But when his fingers brushed a cobweb hanging from the ceiling, he quickly snatched them back, scowling and longing for the pristine library he was used to. Here, the molding bookcases were filled with more heavily molded books, the shelves packed with dust, spiders, and other dark things Draco would rather not imagine. The room barely had any light, as it was in the bowels of the house, and the carpets had long ago worn away into a dusty, rotten mess. How had his mother, a Black by birth, ever associated with relatives who lived in this filth? No wonder she'd married into the Malfoy family.

A flash of his father's grime, blood, and maggot caked face darted to the front of Draco's mind. He shuddered inwardly, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around himself. Not so pristine in the end, not in death.

"Maybe not yet…" Harry scratched his head and sighed. "No, we're not," he conceded. Suddenly, his eyes shown with renewed vigor. Draco narrowed his own in suspicion.

"We could try using Legilimency again," Harry suggested, having the decency to look a bit embarrassed. "I wouldn't push this time. You just have to work with me. Let me try to get past the memory block, or whatever it is."

Something pulsed angrily behind Draco's eyes, warning him against such an idea. Not that he needed the encouragement. Having Harry Potter stampede through his mind was the last thing he'd ever allow.

"Not going to happen, Potter," Draco replied with a scowl. The pulsing eased minutely. "As someone who's more than familiar with a powerful wizard running amuck through his brain, I'm sure you understand."

Harry's expression tightened. "I'm _nothing_ like him, Malfoy! If I were, I wouldn't have asked permission, now –" he stopped, face flushing deep red. "You know what? Never mind. I'm sorry I brought it up." He flipped open another book and began to turn pages faster than he could possibly be reading them.

Draco continued to watch him for a moment, wondering why he felt the faintest inklings of guilt for Harry's distress over his comparison. True, he wasn't the Dark Lord. But that hardly made him a saint, did it? Especially not after all he had done.

_But he's helping you, _a voice whispered. _While everyone else in Britain would Apparate you back to Azkaban faster than a blink, he's helping you. _

Draco shook his head, willing such confusing thoughts away. Harry was the enemy, not like he'd once been, not in terms of values and wars and dueling wands, but they still hated each other; their relationship was far too jaded for anything else.

"I'll try to break it myself," Draco said, after a few tensely silent minutes had passed. Harry raised his eyes.

"It's stronger than an average memory charm," he replied in a neutral voice. "And I don't think you were Obliviated either. Trying to break it yourself could be dangerous." His lips twisted. "I'd rather not wake up one morning to find you drooling on the floor because you melted half your brain away."

"I'll make sure to save everything for a penseive, Potter," Draco sneered in turn. "So even when half my brain is gone you can still find your precious Mudblood."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to his book. But he looked back up almost immediately, his gaze curious, rather than angry.

"You really think I'm only doing this for Hermione, don't you?" his voice, despite his expression, held a fair amount of incredulity.

Draco crossed his arms and scowled harder into his lap, wishing strongly that Harry would quit trying to get into his head, one way or another.

"You do." Harry laughed, making Draco snap his head up. "Honestly, Malfoy, I didn't realize you were so thick."

"Fuck you, Potter," Draco snapped. "Why else would I be here? It's not like you gave a shit about me before. What am I supposed to think?"

Harry shook his head in exasperation. "I could've held off the Aurors long enough to tear what I needed out of you, you know. And then I could've left you there for them. And really, I'm not too sure they were keen on your making it back to Azkaban alive, Malfoy."

Draco took a deep breath, hoping to calm the pounding in his chest. He knew Harry was telling the truth. He also knew that, if his mother was already dead, he might prefer what the Aurors had in store.

"Fine," he conceded, refusing to look up. "Whatever, Potter. You're the hero, the grand rescuer, as always. No need to rub it in my face."

"I'm not –" Harry groaned aloud. "I'm just saying that what happens to you matters also. Alright? Good god, you're hard to talk to."

Another hour or so passed in a tense but amiable silence. Once again, Draco found himself glancing across the book-filled table, studying the face of the man he'd once spent so much effort hating. Harry was fascinating – he could admit that easily enough – just as much as he was loathsome. But, as for the latter, Draco honestly didn't care. He'd much rather spend time dissecting the inner workings of Harry than himself.

Draco had always been drawn to an odd assortment of people. Gregory and Vincent, because their lack of intellectual capacity made for two ridiculously loyal friends, which they had been until their final year. And Pansy, who was a simpering, spiteful little bitch, but she'd been a whiz at Arithmancy and Ancient Runes – and boys. She and Draco had spent many a lazy afternoon picking out possible partners for each other, only separating when night arrived and it was time to move in on their quarry. And then there was Potter. Bloody fucking Potter, who had upset Draco's carefully sheltered sensibilities at age eleven, and who'd spent the next six years paying for that mistake.

It was almost like a compulsion, even now; the ability to get under Harry's skin still made Draco tingle with some unnamed emotion. It wasn't healthy, he knew that also, but then many things in Draco's life had been extremely unhealthy. Surely this renewed fascination with Harry Potter was, by far, not the worst of them.

* * *

Harry grew increasingly annoyed as the hours wore on. Not a single book, a single _bloody_ book, had given him more than a clue about the state of Draco's memory charm. Or whatever the hell it was.

And then Draco, supposedly searching just as urgently, kept watching him. The first few times, Harry decided he'd simply looked up at the wrong time. By the seventh or eighth, he felt blood rising in his face.

"What?" he finally snapped.

Draco looked up, his expression revealing nothing. He raised an eyebrow. "Alright, Potter?"

Harry narrowed his eyes and laid his book across his lap. "You've spent more time studying my hair than you've spent studying these books. What's the matter? Need some new styling tips?"

He felt silly the moment he said it, suddenly more aware than ever that his hair, as usual, was sticking up in several varying directions from his head. He watched as Draco's neutral air reverted to the normal mix of annoyance and hostility.

"From you, Potter?" he curled his lip. "Not likely."

Harry sighed, fully intending to keep reading, but the words blurred across the page when he looked back down. He blinked a few times, but eventually accepted that his eyes had had quite enough for the time being.

"I'm going to go upstairs," he announced, standing. His back cracked uncomfortably. "See if anyone has heard anything about Hermione. Or your mum," he added quickly, noticing the tensing of Draco's shoulders.

"But you're in trouble, aren't you?" Draco said, fixing Harry with an intense gaze. "You defied the Aurors last night, not to mention breaking my parole. How exactly are you going to explain that?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't care to share details about his life, either private or public, with Draco if he didn't have to. That included his reason for no longer being an Auror, and also why Harry remained certain there were those inside the department who would be willing bend the rules for him.

"Don't worry about it." He took a few steps, and then paused. "Just stay down here, alright? I mean, not only the library, obviously… But I don't need you stumbling in while I'm talking to anyone, alright?"

For a moment, it looked like Draco wanted to argue. In the end, he settled for a huffy sigh and slumping his shoulders. "Whatever," he muttered.

The first person Harry contacted was Penelope, a friend of his who'd gone through Auror training at the same time. Penelope was smart, loyal, and ridiculously enamored with Harry, and she would probably give up her job, flat, and life earnings if it meant pleasing him – not a fact Harry was terribly comfortable about, and not one he'd take advantage of under normal circumstances. But these circumstances were anything but normal.

"Harry!" she cried. The Floo made it seem like fire shot through her mouth with the exclamation. "Oh my goodness, are you alright? Where are you? How did you get away?"

Harry frowned, not understanding her questions in the least.

"I'm fine, Penelope," he reassured her. "I do need a favor though. A quiet one, if you catch my drift."

Penelope's eyes widened dramatically. "What –?"

Harry continued. "I need you to look for any mentions of Hermione Granger in the Department of Mysteries files. Supposedly she started some training program, but I think she's missing –"

"Harry!"

Harry paused and realized she hadn't yet lost the alarmed look in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"What's wrong…?" Penelope laughed, sounding more than a little hysterical. "Harry, Lamb and his team got back last night and told us all about what happened. How Draco Malfoy attacked you, and them!, and how he kidnapped you. Oh, Harry! I've been so worried! Wait until the Minister knows, he'll –"

Blood rushed unpleasantly through Harry's ears. _Draco_ kidnapped _Harry_? At least the other way around would've been slightly explainable, on Harry's part. Draco, however, would never be given the option.

"Penelope, hold on, just hold on." Harry licked his lips. "Look, Lamb is lying. I don't know why, but he is. I'm fine, no one kidnapped anyone, but it… well, it's complicated. I really, _really _need you to not tell anyone I talked to you, alright? Penelope?"

Her eyes appeared to be watering. "Harry, every instinct I have tells me something's wrong…" she paused, obviously struggling between her loyalty to Harry, and her loyalty to her training. "But I won't say anything. As long as you check in every couple days. So I'll know you're ok."

Harry smiled at her. "As often as I can. Now about those files?"

Several minutes and a blubbering goodbye later, Harry pulled his head out of the Floo and sat back. He'd given Penelope as much information possible about Hermione and her disappearance, including the last place she'd been seen, and made her promise, again, to keep quiet about all of this.

The situation being worse than he'd imagined, Harry decided not to call on any of his other Ministry contacts. Well, save for one. And this was the call he was dreading the most.

"Ron? Are you home?"

"HARRY!"

Harry flinched, nearly knocking his head into the brick fireplace. Ron's red hair, and even redder face, appeared in the fire.

"What the BLOODY HELL is going on?" Ron yelled. "Where's Malfoy? I'm going to wring his scrawny neck, that no good GIT! Harry, Merlin, are you alright? Are you at the Ministry, or St. Mungo's? Fucking BASTARD! I'm coming! Right now!"

"Ron!" Harry had to yell himself, in order to be heard over his friend's boisterous tones. "Ron, I'm bloody fine. Calm down! I'm at Grimmauld Place, and I _haven't_ been kidnapped, contrary to popular belief."

Ron stared at him, mouth working open and closed like a fish.

"Look, I'm not the one to be worried about," Harry went on. "Have you heard from Hermione?"

"Herm…" Ron blinked a few times. "No, I figured she was busy looking for you. Wait. _Not _kidnapped? Harry –"

Feeling like he was doing a lot of interrupting today, Harry shook his head.

"No, Ron, not kidnapped. I'll explain everything, I promise." He paused. "Look, I think you better come home. If you haven't heard from her either, then I'm pretty sure Hermione's the one who's gone missing. Not me."

Ron stumbled through the fireplace only minutes later, stammering with a mixture of incredulity and confusion.

"Maybe she _has_ gone into some sort of secret Department of Mysteries program," he insisted, after hearing Harry's explanation of recent events.

Harry shook his head bleakly. "I don't think so. Not if she never mentioned something to one of us. I mean, even if she couldn't talk about it, this is Hermione. She would've given us some sort of explanation before going mysteriously missing."

"Yeah, I guess you're right…" Ron sat down heavily in the nearest chair. "You don't… you don't think she's…?"

"No!" Harry said venomously. He couldn't – wouldn't – even consider the possibility of Hermione's death. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "No, Ron, that's not even an option. Alright? She's been through worse… Wherever she is, Hermione can take care of herself."

Ron nodded numbly. "You're right. Of course, you're right…" He stared at his hands for a moment. "Where's Malfoy?" he asked suddenly, snapping his head up. "I bet the little git has something he's not telling. Slimy bastard."

Harry smiled slightly. Some things never changed. "No, he's said everything he can."

"Everything he 'can'?" Ron prompted, frowning.

Harry sighed and briefly explained about what he'd encountered upon entering Draco's mind earlier that day.

"But I don't think I can break it," he finished. "Just prodding at it seemed to hurt him a lot. Breaking it might kill him." Harry rolled his eyes at the unrelenting look on his friend's face. "I'm not going to kill him, Ron."

Ron blew air noisily through his mouth, glancing around. "I don't know, Harry," he said slowly. "If it means finding Hermione, I might be willing to take that chance."

While a normal person might find Ron's statement coldhearted and cruel, Harry simply took it for what it was, considering the situation.

"I know how you feel," Harry replied softly. "You know I do. But there's got to be a better way."

"Harry, it's Hermione!" Ron yelled, shooting to his feet. He began pacing back and forth, punctuating his words with angry footfalls. "I don't give a fuck about Malfoy and neither do you! Alive or dead, if he can't tell us anything helpful, we might as well hand him back over to the Ministry before he causes us any more trouble."

Harry bit his lip and looked away. He didn't give a fuck about Draco either, but at the same time, he wasn't sure how he felt about his former schoolmate being shipped off back to Azkaban, even less guilty than he'd been three years ago.

"Let's just give it some time, Ron," Harry suggested, keeping his voice calm. "Alright?"

* * *

Draco stumbled back down the stairs, a sickening feeling of dread weeding its way through his body. He'd felt physically ill upon hearing Ron's suggestion to turn him over to the Ministry, so much that he'd been afraid of not being able to move if he were to stay much longer. Downstairs, in the bathroom, he twisted on the faucet and splashed water on his face, which felt alarmingly hot.

"I'm not going back," he whispered to himself. "I'm not going back. I'm not…"

Sliding down the wall to the floor, Draco tucked his arms around his stomach and leaned his head against the cold tile. He was tired. So fucking tired. Everyone had bouts of tragedy in their lives, it was nearly inevitable, but didn't everyone also eventually have a reprieve? Following the Dark Lord's return, Draco has spent a year with Death Eaters flitting in and out of his house. He'd spent a year fearing for his and his family's lives were he to fail at an impossible task. He'd spent another year alternating between torturing others and being tortured himself. And then he'd spent the past three learning, by experience, all the varied meanings of the word abuse. Upon release came not a reprieve, but an insane, now missing, mother and an involuntary breaking of the law – one that would send him back to that hell faster than he could blink.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and let out a breath. He was furious with himself for trusting Harry, who had apparently pulled that speech about helping him entirely from his arse. Harry didn't give a fuck about him, just like Weasley said. And if Draco couldn't offer any assistance, then what good would it be to keep him around?

Draco opened his eyes and stared at the cracked and peeling paint on the opposite wall. He could relate with that wall; both damaged and irreversibly fucked up. Of course, a wall could be repainted, masking the spoiled parts underneath to appear fresh and new again. A human being, unfortunately, was a little different.

A sudden idea formed in Draco's mind, catching him by surprise, leaving him feeling both revolted and hopeful. Harry didn't give a fuck about him… but what if he did? Back in sixth year Harry had been obsessed with him; Draco had been well aware of it, though he'd wanted nothing more than to be left alone at the time. But had circumstances been different, Draco was positive he could've played Harry right into his back pocket… and maybe somewhere else. After all, that whole fling with the Weasley girl had seemed _so_ unnatural. Draco had accidentally stumbled around a corner once to find the two of them snogging against a wall. He'd nearly thrown up.

He swallowed, mind filling with doubt. But that had been years ago. And he had no idea what Harry had been up to since then, except an incomplete story about being, and then not being, an Auror. He could even still be in a relationship with Ginny Weasley, or maybe even Ron Weasley, for all Draco knew. He shuddered at the thought.

Dragging himself slowly to his feet, he examined his face in the mirror. Despite being clouded, his reflection showed an overly thin face, all angles and planes, topped with listless blond hair and intersected with deadened grey eyes. He looked older also, he supposed, but not in a good way. Not in the way that spoke of good experience, hard work, and living life. Rather in that he hadn't been living at all. Draco blinked, glancing away.

Maybe none of that would matter. Harry wasn't that shallow, after all.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, wishing he cared enough to take as good of care of it as he used to.

What other choice did he have? His wand did next to nothing – not that he even had it anymore, he reminded himself bleakly – his face was known all over Britain, or would be soon. He'd never once considered taking the route his father had; suicide was for the weak and pathetic, as far as Draco was concerned. For all his other faults, Draco knew he was neither weak nor pathetic. He'd survived this far, staying nearly sane in the process, and he wasn't about to give up now. Making Harry care about him, if that's what it took to maintain his freedom, would definitely not be the worst misdeed he had partaken in.

Splashing another handful of water on his face and smoothing his hair away from his forehead, Draco set out to begin his task.

* * *

TBC


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

How does one convince someone else to not only stop hating, but eventually give a shit about them? Draco pondered this question as he stared listlessly at the pages of a tattered book entitled, _Memory Malfunctions are a Magical Malady_.

For one thing, he'd probably have to stop being so rude – insulting someone was not often the way of appealing to their good-nature. The thing was, Draco didn't even try to be rude around Harry, it simply seemed to be the ongoing state of their relationship. On both their parts, generally.

Next step, gain his trust. Yeah, right. Harry trusted him so much that he apparently didn't even believe Draco's fucked up memory charm was worth trusting.

Draco rubbed a hand tiredly across his face. His brilliant idea seemed less and less brilliant the more he actually thought it out. And hearing Ron and Harry stomping down the stairs just then did absolutely nothing to help.

"Malfoy," Ron greeted coolly, coming to a halt behind Harry's couch.

"Weasley," Draco returned, equally formal. He casually swept his gaze over Ron, noting that, unlike Harry, the red-headed git had packed on a healthy amount of bulk since their school days. Beneath his hideous orange sweater his muscled chest swelled and bulged in all the right places, and Draco suddenly felt like he had the body of a twelve-year old, pre-pubescent boy.

Harry dropped into a chair in the corner, glancing between Ron and Draco but saying nothing.

"So Harry tells me you've got a fucked up head," Ron started. He crossed his arms. "Not that that's anything new. But he also tells me there's probably something about Hermione rolling around in there, so I say that you be amiable and allow Harry to dig it out while we still have the chance."

Rather than acting on his initial inclination, one that went something along the lines of, "go fuck yourself", Draco stared at his hands and allowed a pained expression to sweep across his face – one that wasn't entirely feigned.

"Ron…" Harry said warningly.

"What do you say, Malfoy?" Ron took a few steps forward, leaving him standing in such a position that Draco's head was nearly level with his waist, and had to lean back to answer.

"It's like this, Weasley," Draco replied in an only slightly scathing tone of voice. "Unlike you, both Potter and I have had sufficient experience with powerful wizards tearing through our minds to understand the damage it causes. Maybe _you_ don't think so, but Potter here seems to think I shouldn't be comparing him with the Dark Lord, who would do exactly what you're suggesting without a second thought. So you see, for me _and _Potter, that is a problem."

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Harry pale and turn slightly away. Ron noticed too, and looked instantly regretful.

He stammered, "Harry, you know that's not…"

"It's fine, Ron," Harry interrupted quickly, shooting a look at Ron. "I already said we were looking for other options, so let's just… drop it."

Abashed and slightly red, Ron took over Harry's earlier seat on the couch, continuing to glance apologetically to his friend as he plucked a book off the table.

"I guess we're reading then…" he said morosely. Harry nodded without looking up.

Looking at his lap, Draco smiled.

* * *

When Ron began complaining of hunger pains a few hours later, he clearly didn't mean for Draco to be involved in the process.

"He'll bloody well poison us," he muttered to Harry, throwing a reproachful glance over his shoulder. Trailing silently behind, Draco sneered.

Draco insisted on helping with dinner, if only for the chance to select the most potent bottles of wine possible from the downstairs cellar. Firewhisky would've been his first choice, but he figured that would seem a rather overzealous option for dinner. Maybe afterward, though.

He lugged them upstairs awkwardly, imagining how ridiculous he looked balancing two bottles against his chest and another two hanging from his hands. When he walked into the kitchen, Harry looked rather startled, while Ron looked rather relieved.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy," he said, grabbing immediately for a bottle. "You read my bloody mind."

Draco resisted the urge to sneer again, wanting to say that he'd rather slit his wrists than ever know anything that went on inside Ron's mind. Instead, he merely shrugged and uncorked a second bottle, offering it to Harry.

"You trying to get me drunk?" Harry joked, accepting the wine.

Draco raised his eyebrows and, pouring a glass for himself, took a delicate sip. "Not my fault if you can't hold your own, Potter," he replied.

Harry smirked slightly before returning to his cooking.

While Draco had no intention of getting pissed, he had been counting as his table-mates to pick up the slack. Only as the minutes dragged by, Harry barely touched his glass. Ron however, was a different story. As the three of them ate a quickly prepared dinner, he became louder and more animated by the minute, drawing concerned, but vaguely annoyed glances from Harry, more and more frequently.

"You know the first time I met 'Mione?" Ron slurred, leaning precariously far back in his chair. "Was on the Hogwarts Express… right, Harry?"

Harry nodded, half smiling. "That's right, Ron."

Ron nodded in turn. "Right…" His face fell. "But then I made her cry… then the bathroom…" He looked up at Harry. "Harry, what if she's…? What if –"

Draco watched with barely concealed disgust as tears began leaking down Ron's face. He turned his head away.

"Ron," Harry was saying, already out of his chair and tugging gently on his friend's arm. "Come on. Let's get you upstairs."

Swaying and blubbering, Ron allowed himself to be guided out of the kitchen, leaving Draco alone in the darkening room.

Draco dragged himself out of his chair, somehow irrationally angry at Ron for getting so drunk. And so upset. What the hell did he know about tragedy anyway? He had a family – only one of which died in the war. And who cared? It wasn't like there weren't another dozen or so to take his place. Draco slammed an armful of dishes into the sink.

"Need help cleaning up, Malfoy?"

Harry stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed tensely in front of him. He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

"No." Draco shoved another few dishes to join the others, belatedly realizing he'd already cracked one of the plates in two.

"Goddamnit, Malfoy," Harry was suddenly beside him, scowling angrily. "You're going to break my entire kitchen apart. It's not the bloody dishes' fault you're always in a foul mood."

"No, it's your stupid friend's," Draco snapped. He quickly clamped his mouth shut and looked away.

Harry was staring at him belligerently when he turned back.

"It's Ron's fault?" he repeated slowly. "And how exactly do you work that one out?"

Draco paused, mind rushing to catch up with his mouth.

"Never mind," he muttered, sitting.

Neither of them spoke for awhile. Harry quickly cleaned everything up. Only once he was finished did Draco realize he had done everything without magic. He considered asking, but decided against it; Harry would probably think he was just trying to antagonize him anyway. Which was only partially true.

Still silent, Harry seated himself on the other end of the table and picked up his small glass of wine. He grimaced as he took a sip.

"I hate wine," he murmured, setting the glass down.

"I'm sorry," Draco said softly, careful to keep his eyes on the tabletop.

Harry glanced up, a slightly amused expression on his face. "You're sorry I don't like wine?"

"No, Potter," Draco retorted sharply. "I don't give a shit about what you like…" he made a point of swallowing heavily. "I'm sorry about the stuff I said earlier. About Black, and all that…"

He risked a glance, finding Harry staring at him with a look of utter disbelief.

"You're apologizing?" Harry sounded incredulous. Not that Draco blamed him, considering he was lying.

"Yes, Potter," he snapped, despite his intentions to stay calm. "Believe it or not, even I have a conscious."

Harry continued to stare at him.

Abruptly deciding this had been a much better idea in his mind, than in reality, Draco stood. "I'm going upstairs, Potter. I'll try to work on the memory shit…"

"I don't know, Malfoy," Harry said, frowning. "Maybe you shouldn't do it alone. You might… I don't know. Hurt yourself or something."

"Ah, how touching," Draco found himself sneering. "Harry Potter cares about my well-being."

Harry sighed exasperatedly.

"We both agreed we need your mind intact," he went on. "Just be careful. I'll come see how it's going in a little while."

Too annoyed with himself to argue, Draco left the kitchen without another word. But even with his back turned, he was more than aware of Harry's eyes following him out the door.

* * *

The next several days passed in slow procession. Harry worked carefully and stealthily through his Ministry contacts; more often than not, he glamoured his features into obscurity, sometimes claiming to be a concerned friend, sometimes a reporter. He only allowed a select few to realize his true identity, not caring for a repeat of his conversation with Penelope.

Ron, meanwhile, flitted in and out of Grimmauld Place. He was gone for hours at a time. He returned from each trip looking a little more forlorn than the previous.

"If they'd wanted to… you know," Harry said awkwardly, a day or two later. "Why wouldn't they have just left her for someone to find? And the whole thing about her being in the Department of Mysteries training… No, there's more to it. They wanted her alive, and Hermione sure as hell can make herself useful when she needs to. She'll be fine."

Ron nodded vaguely, looking distracted. "I suppose you're right." He looked up, eyes smoldering. "I still say Malfoy knows something, though."

Harry frowned.

In a distinctly un-Malfoyish manner, Draco had been practically ghosting his way around the house since his first day there. He barely spoke, ate silently, and then disappeared into the library, or else his bedroom, to work on the memory charm.

"He is acting a bit off, isn't he…" Harry muttered. "I'm not sure if I should be suspicious, or relieved he's not acting like a complete git."

Ron snorted. "Just because he's not acting like one, doesn't mean he isn't one."

Harry chuckled. "You don't have to convince me."

* * *

That evening, Harry stepped quietly up the stairs, fully intending to head to his own bedroom, when he heard a small thump from Draco's room, followed by a muffled stream of explicit curses.

He knocked. "Malfoy? Are you alright?" Not bothering to wait for an invitation, Harry spelled open the locked door and stepped inside.

Draco was standing half in and half out of the bathroom, clothed only in a pair of slacks. "What the fuck are you doing, Potter?" he growled. The expression on his face was murderous.

Harry scowled, crossing his arms. "I heard something."

Draco scowled harder. "And that makes it alright for you to come barging into my room?"

"Once again," Harry snapped, "it's not _your_ room. I'll barge in here whenever I bloody well please."

Draco's eyes smoldered. But when he spoke, his voice sounded oddly strained. "Well, that's just fucking fantastic. I'm so glad to see you have absolutely nothing in common with the scum who work at Azkaban, Potter."

Harry clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. "I thought you were left alone for weeks on end, Malfoy? At least that's what you were going on about a few days ago. What, now the story's changing?"

"Leave me alone, Potter," Draco snapped, walking quickly over to his bed and grabbing his shirt.

"Wait," Harry breathed, taking an involuntary step forward. Now that he'd spotted it, he was unable to drag his gaze away from the ropy, pink scar that twisted its way down Draco's chest and abdomen, stopping just short of his left hipbone. It was puckered and angry looking, much different than the smooth, barely perceptible scar Harry had imagined it would be, under Snape and Madame Pompfrey's care. In a way, it even still looked fresh.

"That's…" Harry swallowed. "I did that." He met Draco's eyes, which were shuttered with indifference. "I'm sorry."

Draco stared at him, blinked, then tugged his shirt over his head. "Whatever," he muttered, sinking down onto his bed. "There are worse things."

Harry frowned. "Like what exactly? I nearly killed you."

"I'll leave that to your vivid imagination, Potter," Draco sneered, laying back. "Now if you'll excuse me, trying to drag blocked memories out of my head is a bit more difficult than you'd think. I can't have you yapping at my heels and fucking up my concentration."

"Actually," Harry sat without asking, "I think I'll stay. It's not like you're making any progress anyway. I really think I can help."

Draco sat up quickly, looking panicked and angry. "I already told you no! If you try to get in my head again, I _will_ fight back." He glared defiantly at Harry.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Harry sighed. "That's not what I was suggesting. It's just that I'm more used to the offensive side of things than you. If you at least tell me what it's like, I might be able to suggest ways around it. Alright?"

Still eyeing him suspiciously, Draco lowered himself back to the bed. "Don't talk until I say so," he instructed, already closing his eyes. Seconds later, his entire body slackened slightly, and Harry knew he was at some vulnerable point between waking and unconsciousness; aware of his physical body, yet so within his own mind that he would be completely defenseless otherwise. Harry remained silent and unmoving.

Several minutes later, Draco's chest began moving rapidly up and down and sweat sprang up in beads all over his face. Yet his eyes remained squeezed shut. And then his breathing hitched dramatically, and his eyes flew open.

"Shit." He blew out a slow breath and swiped a hand across his forehead, which was now plastered with hair and sweat.

Harry waited for a second before talking. "Well?" he prompted.

Draco jerked, apparently having forgotten he wasn't alone. He closed his eyes again. "Well, what?"

"_Well_, did it work?" Harry asked with a slight scowl.

Draco shoved his hair away from his face and shook his head. "No." He sighed, looking at the ceiling. "I'm not even sure it's still there. The memory, I mean."

"You weren't Obliviated," Harry said. He would've recognized the signs, seeing as they were never terribly subtle. No, whatever had been done to Draco was considerably more sophisticated.

"Maybe not," Draco said softly, "but… whatever it is, I can't…" he seemed to be struggling to find the appropriate words. "When I try to reach the memory, break through the block or whatever, I know something's going to happen. It's like… like it's connected to my vital organs or something…" He scowled. "That sounds ridiculous, I suppose."

Harry shook his head slowly. "No, it doesn't. When you were doing, well, whatever you were doing, you start starting breathing really, really hard – you even stopped for a few seconds. I thought I was going to have to revive you."

Draco's eyes shifted over to meet his. "What kind of spell could do something like that?"

"No idea," Harry shrugged. "Can you tell me anything more about it?"

Draco blinked a few times, thinking. "Even when I'm awake, just mentioning the missing memories, especially when we talk about trying to unblock them, it's like I can feel it, in my mind, warning me."

Harry frowned, considering. "Can you feel it now?"

Draco nodded. "Yes."

"Are you _sure _you won't let me try?"

"_No_, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. Rising to his feet, he realized suddenly that Draco was wearing the same clothes he'd found him in last week. Only now, they were looking extremely faded and thin. As if they had been spelled clean, over and over...

Flushing deeply, Harry stammered out an excuse and went to his own room. He could hear Hermione's reprimands already, telling him how awful he'd been to Draco, treating him like a prisoner, making him wallow in his own filth. Not that Harry needed Hermione to tell him any of this – he'd been a complete bastard, and he knew it. Minutes later, he returned bearing an armful of clothes and dumped them on Draco's bed.

Draco sat up quickly, staring at Harry like he'd just grown two heads.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. He eyed the clothes disdainfully. "You think I'm going to fold your laundry now? That's what your house-elf is for, you lunatic."

Harry could feel the blood in his face pounding against his temples, though he quietly shuffled away the fact that Kreacher had obviously made contact with Draco. "No, no, of course not…" he coughed. "Um, I'm sorry. I, er, well, I forgot you don't have any of your own clothes with you. I mean, aside from what you're wearing, obviously. So… I thought –"

"You thought I'd like to wear some of your hand-me-downs?" Draco finished for him. He had a strange expression on his face. "You must think I'm pathetic."

Harry crossed his arms. "_No_, I think you've been wearing the same shorts for nearly a week. Not," he quickly added, "that that's your fault. I'm sorry, is what I'm trying to say. I should've offered sooner."

Draco gingerly picked up one of the sweaters. It was bright red with a knitted "H" on the chest. He appeared slightly pained.

"My wand –" he paused, snorting, "– the wand I had, didn't do more than basic charms. Even if I had it, I wouldn't have been able to transfigure this, I doubt."

"Had?" Harry repeated, confused He ignored the latter part of Draco's comment. "Why don't you have your wand?"

Draco's eyes shifted downwards. "It's part of the missing memory. I don't know. Compared to my old one… well, it doesn't really matter anyway."

Harry nodded, picturing the hawthorn wand he'd taken from Draco years before, tucked safely away with his belongings. "Will you ever get another one? A regular wand, I mean?"

Draco shrugged cagily. "I don't know. I suppose I would have."

A stab of something akin to pity worked its way through Harry's gut.

"You're not going back to Azkaban, Malfoy," he said softly. "You haven't done anything wrong. When the time comes, I'll tell them that. Don't worry."

"Don't worry?" Draco laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, because they really cared a lot about what you had to say last time, Potter."

Harry glanced away. "Things change." He was careful to keep any bitterness from his tone. "Trust me, the Ministry doesn't want a legal entanglement with me."

"What does that mean?"

Harry looked back at Draco, finding the other man watching him warily. He forced himself to smile.

"Come on, Malfoy. It's me. Since when do I divulge my famous Boy-Who-Lived secrets to you?"

Draco snorted and flopped back on the bed, heedless of the clothes. "I hope you're right."

Harry sighed. As he moved to leave, he paused. "I am."

He shut the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Draco curled himself into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, and concentrated on steadying his breathing; having Harry in the room while working on the memory charm had bothered him more than he'd care to admit. Truth be told, his breathing had never gotten that out of hand before. But between prodding the charm, being nervous around Harry, and his otherwise fucked up mind, he'd apparently nearly hyperventilated. He supposed he'd have to work on that.

As for Draco's other plan, it was progressing slowly, but progressing nonetheless. Working hard, avoiding confrontations with Harry and Ron, and now allowing Harry to see the scar he himself had marked Draco with – all were steps to gain Harry's trust, his sympathy, his care. It seemed to be working.

"You're not going back to Azkaban," Harry had said. "…When the time comes, I'll tell them that."

Draco fell asleep with Harry's words replaying in his mind, over and over.

* * *

TBC


	8. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

_Date: June 16th, 1998_

_Location: Ministry of Magic - Level 3 Interrogation Room_

_Event: Trial of Draco Abraxas Malfoy _

_Sub-Event: Penseive viewing – memory provided voluntarily by Neville Earnest Longbottom – date of memory: September 31__st__, 1997_

_Description: (as recorded by court scribe)_

_ Neville Longbottom is standing in class; he appears to be somewhere in the dungeons of Hogwarts, glaring defiantly at his teacher, Amycus Carrow. There are twelve other students present, eleven seated around the edges of the classroom, one kneeling in the center of the room, face hidden by a hooded cloak. _

_ "Have I not made myself quite clear?" Carrow says in a soft voice. "This is the only proper way to test your newfound skills, Mr. Longbottom." He laughs, a wet, wheezy sound that would make anyone shudder. _

_ Longbottom doesn't flinch, nor does he lift his wand. "I understand, sir. And my answer is no."_

_ Carrow's eyes narrow dangerously. "No?" Moving swiftly, he takes a step forward to the kneeling student, yanks back the cloak to reveal the face of the accused, Draco Malfoy. "How about now, Mr. Longbottom? Now's your chance for revenge, don't you see!" Carrow leers at Malfoy. "Don't you want to make Dumbledore's murderer pay?"_

_ Malfoy visibly flinching at the mention of the former headmaster. _

_ "No," Longbottom repeats himself. His eyes flicker to Malfoy, appearing to make brief contact, then back to Carrow. "Besides, he didn't kill Professor Dumbledore. Snape did."_

_ Longbottom collapses shockingly to the floor and the memory becomes hazy for a minute or two. When his vision appears to focus again, he stares up into Malfoy's frightened eyes. Above him, Carrow is laughing. _

_ "You stupid Gryffindors and your noble ways." He continues wheezing for another few seconds. "Come _on_," he whines, glaring around at the other students. "Doesn't anyone want to practice your spells?"_

_ Not a single student moves. _

_ Carrow makes a sound strangely reminiscent of a growl. "Fine then. If no one wants to practice themselves, I guess _I'll_ have to practice – on each and every one of you!"_

_ Longbottom's attention is drawn suddenly away from Carrow, who begins stalking around the room in the background, asking who would like to go first. _

_ "Just do it," Malfoy whispers, not looking at Longbottom. _

_ "What?" Longbottom blinks, but also carefully avoids eye-contact. _

_ Malfoy appears to be breathing hard. "I said, do it," he hisses. "He won't stop until you give him what he wants, and I'd rather not be responsible for half my house ending up in the infirmary."_

_ Meanwhile, Carrow drags a Slytherin girl – Pansy Parkinson, as is learned later – from her chair, dropping her into the middle of the room. She sobs and covers her face with her arms. He turns to Longbottom._

_ "See? Look how fair I'm being, picking a Slytherin to go first! And I bet you thought I was just out for you Gryffindors, eh?" He grins. "Now, what shall I do first? Hmm, how about the Entrail-Expelling curse? Curable, of course, but it does make quite a mess…" He raises his wand._

_ "No!" Longbottom struggles to his feet, still unsteady after his own round with Carrow. "Stop! I'll do it, alright? But…" he swallows, glancing to Malfoy, who hasn't bothered standing. "Just one, Professor… I… I don't think I can do more than one r-right now."_

_ Carrow lowers his arm and laughs. "What have I been saying, Mr. Longbottom? Practice does make perfect! One will suffice. For now."_

_ Longbottom shudders visibly as he takes a step or two away from Malfoy. He glares one last time at Carrow as he raises his wand._

_ "Crucio!" His voice is firm, but he doesn't look at Malfoy until after the curse is cast. _

_ Malfoy's mouth opens as the curse hits, but he doesn't scream, instead falling silently to the stone floor where his body convulses and jerks for several seconds. After Longbottom lifts the curse, he begins to cough, spitting blood onto the floor._

_ Clearly horrified, Longbottom stumbles a step back, staring at Carrow._

_ "Are we done?" he nearly whispers. _

_ Carrow grins leeringly, revealing a row of yellow, rotting teeth. "As I said, oh brave one – for now. Class dismissed."_

_ Longbottom watches hatefully as Carrow exits the room, followed quickly by the students. Pansy Parkinson seems to hesitate at the door, glancing at her fallen house-mate, but ends up leaving quietly behind the others. _

_ "You coming?" Seamus Finnigen – again, identified later by Mr. Longbottom – asks._

_ Longbottom nods slowly, looks at Finnigen. "Yeah. Go ahead though. I'll be there in a minute."_

_ Now that they are alone in the classroom, Longbottom kneels beside Malfoy, who is pulling himself into a sitting position on the floor. He spits another mouthful of blood._

_ "Are you alright?" Longbottom says._

_ Malfoy shoots him a strange look. "What the fuck do you care, Longbottom? Thought you would've enjoyed that."_

_ Longbottom continues looking at him. He stands. "I'm not going to do it again." He begins to walk toward the door. He pauses at the sound of Malfoy's voice._

_ "I'd do it to you!" Malfoy calls hoarsely. He sounds only half-convincing. _

_ Longbottom shakes his head. "No, you won't." He leaves._

- _End of Memory_ -

* * *

Draco awoke abruptly, heart fluttering in his chest like a frightened animal. He drew a shuddering breath, wondered if he'd been screaming when he found his throat dry and scratchy. Swinging his feet silently to the floor, he padded to the bathroom, kneeled in front of the toilet, and was sick into the bowl.

Draco grimaced, wiping any remaining traces of sick away from his mouth and sinking completely to the floor.

This dream had been different. Humiliated, degraded, ashamed – all were feelings Draco was familiar with on a day to day basis. But they were his feelings alone, not to be shared by anyone. They were his own personal hell. Which did little to explain why Harry Potter had been sharing them with him before Draco woke.

Harry had been standing inside Draco's cell with him, leaning against a wall, not lifting a finger to prevent the debauchery that was occurring before his eyes. In the dream, Draco had caught glimpses of Harry's face. His bright green eyes had been darkened with horror, sparking with revulsion, glowing with disgust. Draco had closed his own eyes and forced his gaze away.

Luckily, upon reaching awareness, Draco never remembered the specifics of his dreams – though he didn't need to, to know what they were about – but he did remember Harry's presence… Draco sighed in frustration. Fucking Potter. Couldn't even leave him alone in his dreams.

A sharp rap at the door prompted Draco to jerk to his feet; quickly flushing away the mess before Harry could come barging in.

"Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes, hearing the bedroom room squeak open. He stepped out of the bathroom, crossing his arms across his chest. He fixed Harry with an annoyed glare.

"Yes?" he said.

Harry blinked. "Um, yeah. Get dressed, or something. We're going out." Without waiting for a reply, he walked away, not bothering to pull the door shut behind him.

Draco's heart immediately resumed its frantic thumping. This was it, then. Ron had finally convinced Harry to turn him in. Or maybe they'd simply leave him on the side of the road somewhere, where it was more likely the Aurors would simply kill him as a matter of public safety, than allow him to explain himself.

"Potter!" he yelled, nearly stumbling into the hall.

Only several feet away, Harry whirled around, looking alarmed. "What the hell, Malfoy?"

Draco swallowed, feeling his pulse jumping in his neck when he did. "Where… where are we going?"

Furrowing his eyebrows, Harry waited a second before answering. "I have to meet with someone that might know something about Hermione and your mum." He frowned at Draco. "Ron was having a fit about leaving you here alone, so I figured you could come with me."

Draco blinked a few times. As the initial adrenalin faded away, he felt limp and weary with relief. "Oh," he said softly.

"We're both going in glamours," Harry explained, still watching him with a frown. "No one will recognize us."

"Oh," Draco repeated himself. He tore his eyes away from Harry, whose gaze was decidedly too intense. "I'll get dressed then."

"You do that," Harry echoed softly. Draco twitched nervously, realizing Harry had taken a step or two closer to him. "Malfoy…" he started.

"I'll be down in a few minutes." Draco swallowed forcibly. Turning around, he backed quickly into his room and yanked the door closed behind him. After a few calming breaths, he deftly shed his week-old clothes and pulled on what Harry had provided for him the night previous. Everything fit alright – though Draco suspected he was wearing Harry's clothes from at least five years ago – except for the sweater. The obviously-made-by-a-Weasley sweater.

Draco surveyed his image in the mirror and scowled at his reflection. He was practically swimming in the gigantic, red mess of yarn – complete with the large "H" stitched into the chest. He scowled harder, quickly deciding the "H" would stand for "Hell", and definitely not "Harry".

After quickly lacing up his trainers, he made his way downstairs, finding Harry sitting in the entryway, tapping his foot impatiently against the floor.

Upon noticing him, Harry's foot stilled and he looked at Draco expectantly.

"Ready?" he asked.

Draco nodded, crossing his arms. "What about the glamour?"

Not bothering to reply, Harry raised his wand and Draco immediately felt the cool, watery-like feeling of his features rearranging themselves into obscurity, or so he assumed. When Harry seemed to be finished, Draco glanced down to find himself wearing extremely strange clothes.

"Potter," he started.

"It's teenage Muggle fashion," Harry explained distractedly, currently working on his own glamour. "While I meet with – the contact, you can stay nearby. Where no one will think twice about seeing you."

"We're going to a Muggle place, then," Draco stated, rather than asked. He frowned, looking at the ground.

"Oh, get a grip, Malfoy," Harry snapped. "It could be a lot fucking worse."

Draco glanced up, surprised to see Harry watching him with an annoyed expression.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Draco sneered, half rolling his eyes. "I don't care that we're going to a Muggle place, seeing as it's far less likely to be filled with people who wish to kill me. It's just… I've not…" he sighed, more in self-annoyance than anything. "I've never exactly _hung around_ with Muggles, Potter. I have no idea how to act around them, is all," he finished lamely.

Harry laughed and Draco's cheeks burned.

"Shut up, Potter!"

"Honestly," Harry said, still grinning and chuckling to himself. "They're Muggles, not some foreign species. Just think of them like… like wizards and witches without magic. Which, in a way, they are." His eyes took on a challenging glint.

Several years ago, Draco would've immediately launched into a heated dispute of that statement. Most of the words coming from his mouth would've been his father's, no doubt, but that would not have even given him pause, not then.

Draco merely raised his eyebrows at Harry. He'd had more than enough time to ponder those arguments over the years; it had taken little to time to reach a conclusion – the conclusion that Draco had come to detest his own kind with far more passion than he'd ever detested Muggles.

"Whatever, Potter," Draco said mildly. "Shall we go?"

* * *

Harry's eyes were thoughtful as Draco offered his arm, clearly ready to leave.

"Well?" he said.

Shrugging, Harry stood and, upon grasping Draco's elbow, Apparated them both to a park in northern London. He didn't know the park's name, only that he'd passed it several times before. He did know that it was frequented solely by Muggles, and therefore posed little threat to either him or his contact.

_Or Malfoy_, he reminded himself. He vividly recalled the panic-stricken look on Draco's face when he'd come barreling into the hall earlier, yelling Harry's name, nearly giving Harry a heart-attack himself.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" he'd yelled back. But, really, Harry hadn't been angry at being startled – really, he'd been alarmed, worried that something was wrong with Draco. After that, as the realization of why Draco was upset dawned on Harry, he'd felt the familiar tug of sympathy calming him down, making his pause and consider his unwitting companion. And then Draco had calmed as well, under Harry's reassurances, before retreating silently to his room. Draco trusted him, Harry belatedly realized, continuing to stare at his door after it closed. When on earth had that happened?

Even now, Draco trudging silently along beside him, the thought unnerved Harry. It had been a long time since anyone had relied on him as more than a good friend, a dinner companion, a fellow Quiddich fan – Harry had made it to be so, after all. The idea that Draco obviously was relying on him to keep him safe, and more, to keep him alive, was unsettling to say the least.

"They're so _weird_," Draco hissed, sidling closer to Harry. His eyes were fixed on a group of young girls, giggling and tossing a ball amongst themselves. Each time one of them caught the ball, she would shriek a name and toss it as quickly as possible to the next recipient.

Harry smiled slightly. "They're kids, Malfoy. Of course they're weird."

"I know they're kids, Potter," Draco muttered, still eyeing the girls. "But why don't they do something normal? Like play with a fanged Frisbee?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Here," he said a moment later, indicating an empty bench. "You sit here, and for heaven's sake, try to look casual. I'll be just on the other side of the green – you'll still be able to see me – but it won't look like we're together either. Alright?"

Draco glanced at the bench and then back at Harry. "What if something goes wrong?"

"Malfoy," Harry fought for patience, though it was surprisingly easier than it had been just a few days previous. "You'll be fine. I'll be right over there. It's –"

"Not _me_," Draco interrupted, giving Harry a look. "You. You haven't mentioned your 'contact's' name, so I'm guessing you have no idea who he or she is. What if it's a trap?"

Rather taken aback by Draco's concern, Harry blinked a few times before answering. "That's why we're meeting here, in the middle of all of them." He waved around the park. "Even if someone intended me harm, they aren't very likely to do it out in the open like this. Aurors would be here in seconds."

Draco frowned, looking less than convinced.

"Really, Malfoy," Harry drawled, quite aware this tone was much more common coming from Draco, rather than him. "I never knew you cared so much for me."

"Sod off, Potter," Draco replied, scowling. He sat down with a huff, still glaring at Harry. "Well, go _on_ then. Don't keep your date waiting."

Harry rolled his eyes slightly as he turned away and began walking briskly away. They were meeting by a fountain, one that was broken currently, and therefore would keep the normal crowd of splashing kids and pining lovers away. As he got closer, Harry could see a lone figure sitting on the far side of the fountain. He tensed, fingers tightening around his wand. It had to be his contact.

Draco had been right, actually: Harry had no idea who this witch or wizard was. They had contacted _him_, albeit by anonymous owl-post.

_Dear Mr. Potter, _the letter had read. _It has been brought to my attention that you are investigating the disappearance of a loved one – a disappearance into the Department of Mysteries. You should know, your case is __not__ unique. We should arrange a meeting, as I am willing to say no more via this form of communication. Should you wish to contact me, this owl will bear the note to its proper destination. _

_ Regards._

There had been no signature, magical or otherwise, but Harry's interest had been piqued. Hermione, after all, had hinted at some sort of conspiracy – and conspiracies usually involved multiple people. So Harry had named the date and place of their meeting, the contact had agreed, and now, here they both were.

Careful not to move too fast, Harry cleared his throat, stepping alongside the mysterious person – a wizard, he realized quickly.

"Potter?" The wizard stood slowly, eyeing Harry from beneath a hood that did well obscuring the majority of his features.

Harry nodded. "Yes, sorry about the disguise. And you are?"

"It doesn't matter," he said hastily, crossing his arms and glancing around them. "You're sure you weren't followed?"

Harry frowned slightly. "I'm wanted by the Ministry, as I'm guessing you are also. If I'd been followed, we wouldn't still be standing here."

"Yes, yes, fine." The wizard crossed his arms tightly. "When did your friend disappear?"

"Last week," Harry answered, frowning a bit. Something seemed rather… off about this fellow.

He nodded. "Last week… ok, alright. And why do you think she disappeared?"

Now Harry did frown. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I thought you were supposed to tell me that."

The wizard laughed harshly. "Me? I never said I knew _why_ any of them disappeared."

"Any of them?" Harry repeated. "You said my case wasn't unique." He narrowed his eyes. "How many more has this happened to?"

Chuckles subsided, the wizard began to glance around nervously again. "How many?" he whispered. "I can't say exactly. Dozens, maybe more. But I will say this; your friend is a bit different than the rest."

"Different how?" Harry asked.

"Well, _obviously_, because she's _your_ friend, Mr. Potter." He paused to glance behind himself. "The others, they were nobodies – witches and wizards that could be snatched away without a trace, leaving nothing and no one behind to even notice they'd gone."

Harry doubted that, not when he knew how badly Draco needed to find his mum. He simply nodded, however, and urged the other man to continue.

"But your friend, the one that supposedly is training for six weeks in the Department of Mysteries. If she doesn't return, I'd say you're bound to notice."

"Do you know where she – they – were taken?" Harry asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

The wizard shook his head vigorously. "No. No, and you shouldn't go looking either! Otherwise they'll get you as well. Better to wait the six weeks. If they said she's returning, returning is what I imagine she'll do."

Harry frowned again. "And what would stop them from simply extending that time? And if something were to happen in the meantime, they could simply write it off as a work-related accident." He paused, regarding the twitchy wizard. "Why would you contact me, say you want to meet, and then tell me I should do nothing?" He took a step forward, satisfied to see the other man shrink back. "What do you really want?"

As if a sudden, calming potion had been poured down his throat, the wizard straightened and looked Harry squarely in the eyes for the first time.

"To protect you, of course."

In the split-second before the spell was cast, Harry saw the wizard's eyes were blue.

* * *

TBC


	9. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Harry slumped to the ground, muscles weakened beyond the point of control, his head spinning crazily. He gasped, tried to push himself up, but the wizard – now, his attacker – intoned another wordless spell. Pain shot through Harry's skull, similar to that of a careless Legilimens, but different somehow. Sharper. More focused.

"What – what are you doing?" Harry panted, forcing the words past his lips. Even that was difficult. "I thought… thought you wanted… to help."

"I am helping!" the wizard replied harshly. His words sounded unnaturally loud to Harry, as if he was hearing them from two places at once. Perhaps he was.

The wizard continued. "The only way you'll be safe is if you accept their story. This way you won't question anything! And they won't have a reason to come after you too."

Harry wished his muddled brain could better comprehend what he was hearing, for future reference more than anything, but whatever the other man was doing, or rather, what he was trying to do, drew all of his attention.

As he'd told Draco several days earlier, his Occlumency had never reached a point Harry felt comfortable with. Oh, it had improved since he was fifteen, of course, but never to the level Harry desired.

"Harry," Hermione had said quietly a few years ago, following a rigorous testing of his newfound obsession. "It's not like Voldemort is coming back. Who else would be trying to perform Legilimency on you? I don't understand why you want to do this _now_. I mean, considering you didn't…"

"I didn't do it when he was still around?" Harry had finished for her. Hermione had flushed, but nodded affirmatively. After glancing away, pondering how to best answer her question, Harry had finally decided he couldn't. At least not in one of two concise sentences. "It's just something I have to do, Hermione," he'd finished softly.

And here he was, years later, faced with the very situation Harry had once dreaded enough to employ learning the techniques of his enemies.

"_No_…" Harry gasped, feeling the tendrils of another mind wrapping their way forcibly around his. He poured every ounce of strength into throwing the foreign presence out, but nothing seemed to be working. It felt like he wasn't struggling at all. But if this wizard wasn't a Legilimens, then what the hell was he doing?

"It's alright. Just relax. It doesn't hurt, what I'm doing. You're just fighting too much" the man said, tone nearly soothing. Only it wasn't, because it rang so loudly Harry could feel his eardrums vibrating with pain.

"Nearly there," the loud voice whispered. Inside his head? Outside? Harry wasn't sure anymore. "Have to position everything correctly, before it can be finished. Almost there –"

Harry cried out as his mind was abruptly freed from the other's presence, collapsing fully to the ground. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to quell the crushing pain in his skull, pushing it forcibly to the back of his mind where it could be dealt with later. Only once he felt able to breathe again did he become aware of the sounds of struggle nearby.

Snapping instantly to survival mode, Harry grabbed his wand and rolled quickly to his stomach, not sure he'd be able to stand just yet. On his stomach, however, he could have a full view of what was happening, and not witness it all upside down. His eyes widened at what they found.

Draco, who had lain limply on the ground and allowed Harry to pummel his face not more than a couple weeks ago – had it only been that long? – was currently rolling in the grass with the other wizard, punching, kicking, and struggling for all he was worth. His face was bright red, eyes blazing, and a smear of blood streaked across one of his cheeks. The other wizard, who'd apparently charmed his hood to cover his face no matter what, struggled just as violently. He also kept trying to reach for something a few feet away. It took Harry little time to realize it was his wand.

"_Accio_ wand," Harry said quickly, catching the wand as it flew instantly to his hand. "Malfoy! Get away from him! I've got his wand."

It seemed Draco didn't hear him at first, but then he managed to gain the upper hand and smash his knee into the wizard's groin, sending a crunching blow to his face simultaneously. Moving quickly, he rolled away.

As soon as Draco was clear, Harry wordlessly bound the other wizard, watching with satisfaction as his struggles became futile against the magical bands of rope circling his limbs. He glanced around, seeing that they'd drawn a few distant spectators to the brawl, but no one appeared interested enough to have risked wondering very close. Good thing. He looked to Draco next.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Draco nodded, still half-sitting on the ground and breathing hard.

Harry got to his feet very slowly. Still weak and dizzy from whatever spells had been cast on him, he moved to the wizard's side and looked down.

"Care to explain what just happened?" Harry said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

The man whimpered. "You don't understand," he breathed. "I'm trying to _help_ you! Please, listen to me. Please."

Harry shook his head. "No. I'm done listening. The binding spell I cast will wear off in a few minutes. My companion and I will be gone by then. But if you ever come near me again, I _will_ give you to the Ministry. Do you understand?"

The wizard looked away briefly, and back to Harry, shaking his own head slowly. "I really wish you would have listened…" And then he disappeared.

Harry started, staring in shock at the now empty spot on the ground. He realized, after a moment, that Draco was standing beside him.

"I thought you got his wand," Draco said.

"I did," Harry murmured. The pain in his head was growing again, gnawing its way out from where Harry had hidden it. "He must have come with two… crazy bastard." He rubbed his hand over his eyes and briefly wondered why fireflies were out at this time of the day.

"Potter?" Draco's voice, alarmed, sounded distant, the very opposite of a few minutes ago. "Potter, I can't –"

Sights and sounds faded to nothingness as Harry lost consciousness. He was barely aware of Draco's arms holding him as he fell, once again, to the grass below.

* * *

"Shit, shit, shit!" Draco muttered fiercely. "Potter!" He lightly slapped Harry's cheek. When there was no response, he slapped a bit harder. Harry's eyes twitched beneath the lids, but he showed no other signs of waking. Draco cursed loudly.

It had taken him a minute or two to realize what was happening, as far away as the bench had been, but Draco had barely even stopped to think. He was sprinting across the park before he knew it, paying little attention to the curious, and vaguely suspicious, glances he drew from Muggles along the way. As he'd drawn closer, it was obvious Harry was under attack, practically disabled it seemed, and Draco had tackled the offending wizard, dropping them both to the ground in a heap of flailing limbs and flying fists.

"Potter," Draco hissed. "Potter, wake the fuck up! _Rennervate_!"

Harry's eyes twitched again.

"Hey, is he alright?"

Draco started violently, snapping his head up to see a concerned Muggle woman inching her way closer. Her step faltered a bit as she met Draco's gaze.

"Um, I saw you and that other man fighting over here," she said tentatively. She looked around, presumably for the missing man. "Is your friend alright there? Do you want me to call the police? Or maybe an ambulance?"

Draco blinked at her. He had absolutely no idea what she'd just asked, but he did know he did not need anyone else, especially some useless Muggles, getting involved.

"No, no, he's fine," Draco answered quickly, flashing a hopefully convincing smile. "He gets overexcited, you see. Faints easily. He'll come around in a few minutes."

The Muggle nodded knowingly. "Ah, alright. I have a girlfriend that does that. Of course, her's is because of low blood-sugar." She indicated Harry. "You might suggest he see a doctor about that. Wouldn't want him falling off the tracks down in the Tube now, would you."

"Right," Draco said, feeling slightly bemused. Shifting a bit, he managed to palm Harry's wand and cast a quick lightening charm. "I'd better be getting him home."

The woman continued to stare for a moment and Draco nearly rolled his eyes in annoyance. Didn't Muggles understand a dismissal when they heard one?

"Thanks for your concern." Draco smiled again, allowing just a bit of his annoyance to creep through.

That apparently did the trick, because she smiled in turn and waved a quick goodbye before heading off in the opposite direction. Draco shook his head.

Pulling Harry into a sitting position, Draco swung one of his arms around his shoulders and slowly stood. Even considerably lighter, he reckoned Harry had to weigh at least half a ton.

"Christ, Potter," Draco grunted, "I think you need to lay off the biscuits…"

Harry's head lolled onto Draco's shoulder in response.

Now that the Muggle had left, and it didn't seem any more were planning to bother them, Draco felt the edges of panic creeping back in on his consciousness. Hadn't he warned Harry something like this would happen? But no, the stupid idiot had smiled and assured him everything would be fine.

Obviously.

Draco swallowed nervously. They had to get out of the open. He didn't know how long Harry's glamours would last, although Draco could re-cast them when the time came, but in the brief minutes in-between they would be both recognizable. And that simply wasn't an option.

Practically dragging Harry, Draco moved slowly towards the lonely looking alleyway across the street. The shops on either side were closed, so Draco decided if he could hide them from view of the street, they'd be fine, at least for awhile.

Wand tucked inside his sleeve, Draco cast a Disillusionment charm on the both of them, and then Muffiato to make sure no one could hear them shuffling by. After what seemed like an eternity, they made it to the alley where Draco immediately collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily. He dragged Harry behind a foul-smelling metal bin – he presumed it was for rubbish – and leaned against the wall beside him.

"Potter?" he tried. There was no response.

Draco leaned his head back and stared at the opposite wall. Every so often he glanced at Harry, hoping to see signs of stirring, but as the minutes pressed on, that seemed less and less likely. What if he was really hurt? Draco had no idea what spell, or curse, the other wizard had cast on Harry. Even if he did, Draco considered, he probably knew more magic for causing harm than curing it anyway.

"This is fucking brilliant, Potter," Draco muttered, not caring that he was, in essence, talking to himself. "First I end up rescuing _your_ arse, for a change, and then you faint like some prissy girl. Now we're stuck in some nasty smelling alleyway in the middle of London. Fucking great…"

Harry made a soft noise from where he lay. Draco recognized it immediately as being borne of pain, and his stomach clenched. Aware his hands were shaking slightly, he gently maneuvered Harry's head onto his lap, hoping it would ease whatever it was he was suffering. Stroking his fingers gently over Harry's temple, Draco could feel the insistent, stubbornly beating pulse beneath. He found it oddly comforting.

"You're lucky, you know," Draco said softly. He traced lightly over Harry's lightning-bolt scar, usually hidden beneath his fringe of messy hair. "You've always had people there to comfort you, watch out for you… even if you didn't always know it…" He sighed quietly. "My family was never exactly nurturing… you could say. Suppose that's why I was such a monumental brat – had to assert my authority over somebody. Greg and Vince…" Draco trailed off, hearing Vincent's screams echo in his memory. He cleared his throat. "I suppose that's why I hated you so much. You never even noticed me… and then you did. Only it was too late… I don't hate you now, though…"

Harry groaned again, shifting a bit on Draco's lap. And then his eyes slowly opened.

* * *

Harry stared up at Draco, not sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all.

"You're awake," Draco said, staring back. Harry nodded vaguely; his head felt like a bludger had been rampaging through it recently.

He'd woken a few minutes ago, long enough to hear Draco's quiet monologue, to hear his voice break when he mentioned Crabbe and Goyle, and long enough to hear him say he didn't hate Harry…

"Are you alright?"

Harry blinked, swallowed a couple times, and nodded again. "Yeah, I think so." He then became aware that Draco's hand was resting on the side of his face. Draco, apparently realizing the same thing, jerked the offending limb back and looked away, face darkening with a deep flush.

Sitting up slowly, Harry glanced around, not terribly surprised they weren't in the park anymore, but not entirely sure where they were either. He looked back at Draco, who seemed determined not to meet his eyes.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Draco shrugged. "Abandoned alley, across the street. I figured it was better than leaving you sprawled out in the park." He sounded vaguely defensive, though Harry didn't know why. "What did he do to you anyway?"

Now there was an uncomfortable question. Truthfully, Harry had no idea. Whatever is was he'd been trying to do, it hadn't worked. At least, he didn't think it had.

"I don't know," Harry answered. He rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Are _you_ alright?" he asked, peering closely at Draco. There was a raw-looking scrape across one of his cheek-bones, a blossoming bruise forming on his chin. "That was quite a brawl you got yourself in."

The flush creeping up Draco's cheeks grew brighter. "What else was I supposed to do?" he snapped. "It's not like I have a wand."

Harry frowned. He hadn't meant to sound admonishing. "I know," he said softly. "But you helped my anyway. Thank you, Malfoy. You probably saved my life."

Draco's eyes widened considerably as he looked up and, for just a moment, Harry witnessed a bit of the same vulnerability he'd heard in Draco's voice just a few minutes before. But only for a moment, and then the shuttered mask was back in place.

"Don't be so dramatic, Potter," Draco scoffed, though it sounded a bit weak to Harry's ears. "I did no such thing."

Harry bit his lip, holding back his reply for another time. He glanced around again as something else occurred to him.

"Wait a minute, why didn't you just Apparate us back to Grimmauld Place?" Harry asked, confused. "It would've been a hell of a lot easier than dragging me all the way over here."

Draco crossed his arms and tucked his chin against his chest, eyes lowered to the ground.

"Because I can't," he muttered.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Harry frowned. "Surely you learned how to Apparate. We had lessons sixth year… or did you miss them all?"

Draco snorted. "Don't be daft. Of course I learned how to Apparate, Potter. It's… more complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"Fuck, Potter!" Draco jerked his head up, glaring. "It's because of Azkaban, alright?"

Harry still didn't know what he was getting at. The confusion must have shown on his face.

"Don't you understand _anything_ about magic?" Draco snapped.

"Er… understand what… exactly?"

Draco groaned. "Magic has to be done continuously, Potter," he continued, looking and sounding rather strained. "What witch or wizard do you know that doesn't perform at least a dozen or more spells a day? If you don't do it for a long time, you," he paused, taking a breath. "You get weak, alright. Seeing as I went… Even _with_ a wand, I'm little better than a Squib right now. So go on. Feel free to gloat!"

Sirius had been weak, Harry remembered; physically, mentally, perhaps magically, as well. After all, in the months following his escape, he hadn't even transfigured his clothing into something decent, hadn't used a cleansing spell to wash his filthy hair. At the time, Harry had figured those things had simply fallen beneath his radar, as far as priorities went. But maybe not. Maybe he'd simply been too weak to do all he needed.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I didn't know that."

Draco snorted again. Just as he turned away, Harry thought his glare might have receded a bit.

"It'll get better, eventually." Draco said softly.

Harry nodded as he got to his feet. "Good," he said. He hoped Draco could hear the honesty in his voice. "That's good."

* * *

"So was that our only outing for the day?" Draco joked as he stood, only half-heartedly though; he couldn't seem to erase the expression on Harry's face from his mind, even as Harry flashed him a wry grin.

"Amazingly enough," he answered, "even I have only a limited number of amazing feats of heroics per day. Oh, yeah, I need my wand back, if you don't mind."

Draco rolled his eyes at the polite request. Had he been in Harry's place – oh, wait, he had been – he would've demanded his wand back the moment he was awake. And then Harry raised his wand toward him, and Draco couldn't help the involuntary flinch that followed.

Harry's arm lowered slightly. "Sorry," he said, frowning slowly. "I was going to heal the scrape on your face… Do you not want me to…?" His voice trailed off questioningly.

"No, that's fine." Draco felt his face heating, once again, with a flush. He stared at Harry's jaw as he intoned a quick healing charm; the cool, slippery feeling of the curative magic contrasted greatly with the otherwise heat of his face. "Thanks," he muttered, once Harry had finished.

Harry nodded distractedly. "I think the glamours are starting to fade." He glanced around, probably looking for wandering Muggle eyes. "We should go."

As loathe as Draco was to continue his close proximity with Harry at the moment, he had little choice but to take hold of Harry's arm, closing his eyes as he felt the nauseating tug of Apparition snatching them out of the alley. The moment solid floorboards were underneath his feet, he stepped away, nearly backing himself into the wall. Harry gave him a strange look as he dropped both their glamours.

"Are you sure you didn't get hit with something, Malfoy? You seem twitchier than usual."

Draco sneered weakly at the insult, unable to explain the slight betrayal he felt at Harry's words. Apparently their brief moment of peace was over, now that they were back on safe ground. "Yeah, well, you seem uglier than normal, Potter. Oh wait, that's because you took your glamour off, isn't it."

Harry, maddeningly, just gave him another look. Shaking his head, he muttered something about the kitchen before disappearing down the stairs near the end of the hall.

Draco chewed on his lower lip, debating whether to follow him or not. Weasley didn't seem to be around – thank Merlin for that – so the library would be unoccupied, and Harry hadn't exactly invited him along either… But he was obviously in pain, weakened from whatever spell he'd been hit with – Draco knew that with pain and weakness came vulnerability. And those who were vulnerable could be so easily manipulated, exploited, used…

Draco swallowed hard, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.

"Hey, Malfoy?" Harry's voice drifted up from the basement, seemingly on cue to taunt him. "I'm making lunch. If you're hungry." A moment later. "Do you know where Ron put those pain potions he bought yesterday?"

Draco's stomach lurched and he could feel his hands trembling slightly. Pain potions could be altered in a number of simple ways – simple, yet devastating. Add one ingredient, it became an instant poison. Add another, it bent the user's will just so, just enough to ensnare his or her mind, ensure the slight shifting of free will.

And Draco could do it _so_ easily…

"Malfoy?"

Ignoring hearing his name called once more, Draco practically fled up the stairs and to his room, slamming the door behind him with a loud thud. He slid to the floor, curling his knees up to his chest, and buried his face in his arms, shaking bodily now.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he whispered.

* * *

_The heavy iron door swung lazily open, admitting a thin stream of artificial light into the cell. From where he lay huddled in the corner, Draco raised an arm in a feeble attempt to shield his eyes. He moaned softly as the door opened wider and the light intensified. _

_ "Well, well, little Malfoy. Not feeling so cheeky today, are we?"_

_ Draco fought to even his breaths as the bearer of that leering tone bent over him, grinning broadly. _

_ "You haven't answered me." A rough hand grabbed a handful of Draco's hair, yanking him forcefully upwards. Draco let out an aborted cry, body screaming in protest, silenced as he was slammed backwards into the wall. The breath left his lungs in a painful whoosh. When he could finally breathe again, he whimpered._

_ The face leaned close to his, hot, putrid breath making him want to wretch. _

_ "Hurts, doesn't it?" the breath blew moistly against Draco's fever-hot skin. "But I figure three days is long enough to mull things over. Even for someone stupid as you." Closer still. "You want the pain to stop, don't you, Malfoy? I can make it stop. You know I can. Or… I can make it worse. But that's up to you. So what do you say, Malfoy? Do you want the pain to stop?"_

_Draco closed his eyes briefly. Very slowly, he reopened them, shivering. _

_ "Yes," he whispered. "Please…"_

* * *

TBC


	10. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

Draco stayed in his room until well after their usual dinner time, and then well into the evening. He was bound and determined _not_ to run into Harry again until morning. Finally, long after the hour Harry normally retired to his room, Draco gave into his stomach's insistent grumbles and stepped quietly down the stairs.

"Still alive, I see," Ron's voice greeted as he creaked open the kitchen door.

Draco groaned inwardly, really not in the mood to deal with the red-headed git tonight.

"Last time I checked," he muttered, quickly pocketing a few scones. He had intended to stay down there, maybe warm up whatever the other two had eaten for dinner, but Draco's desire to spend time with Ron came in close second to his desire to stick his head in an oven.

"Tea's fresh," Ron offered.

Draco sighed in annoyance.

Several minutes later, they sat at opposite ends of the table, each maintaining an uncomfortable silence. Ron appeared to be reading the paper – he was also being ridiculously cordial and hadn't accused Draco of killing Hermione even once, which was otherwise a daily occurrence. Draco narrowed his eyes slightly, wondering what exactly he was playing at.

"So," he said, not able to stand it any longer. "Is Potter sleeping?"

Ron glanced up. "I don't know," he said slowly, a vaguely amused expression forming on his face. "Why?"

Draco shrugged, and resisted crossing his arms. "If you should be asking anyone whether they're alive or not, it's your boy-wonder, not me. He looked a right mess earlier…" He trailed off, suddenly wondering if Ron even knew about what had gone on that morning, judging from the strange look he was currently fixing on Draco.

"He's fine," Ron replied, frowning. "Are you saying you would care if he wasn't?"

"Maybe I would," Draco snapped, although he bit his tongue almost immediately. He sneered."Because if he'd dead, there's not much to keep you from killing me, now is there?"

Ron snorted. "Give me a break, Malfoy. If I wanted to kill you, you wouldn't still be sitting here." He crossed his arms, and Draco couldn't help but stare at the bulging muscles in his forearms. "And, for the record, I don't think you're telling the truth."

"What are you on about, Weasley?" Draco sneered, leaning back in his chair.

Ron leaned forward. "Harry told me what you did, helping him and all. He seems to think you've had some drastic change of heart, tapped into your inner-good or some shite like that." His voice lowered, became more intense. "But you see, Malfoy, Harry likes to see the good in people. He likes to _save_ people. And I imagine it's a whole lot easier to save someone who's not a heartless Death Eating bastard."

Anger bubbled in Draco's gut, outweighed only by the knowledge that Ron could, and apparently would, kill him, if given reason to. Well, maybe not kill him, but he would certainly hand Draco over to the Ministry.

Ron continued. "So tell me, Malfoy. Why did you save Harry earlier?"

"Because I didn't want him to get hurt," Draco blurted out, feeling his face redden. Ron's eyes widened, although not in complete surprise, and it was then that Draco realized what was going on.

The tea, the cordial attitude, the late-night visit to the kitchen – none of it was a coincidence. Only Draco hadn't understood until just now; the slightly fuzzy feeling behind his eyes, the insistent tugging and nagging of his tongue…

"You bastard!" Draco yelled, scrambling to his feet. "I saved your stupid friend's life and _this_ is the thanks I get?"

Ron's wand was in his hand before Draco could move more than a few steps. "Sit," he ordered.

"Fuck you!" Draco spat. He backed up, pressing himself against the counter, all but shaking with rage.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Fine. Sit, stand, I really don't care. So you didn't want Harry to get hurt. Why?"

"Because if Harry had gotten hurt or killed, I would've been on my own," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"So? You could've taken Harry's wand, left town. Why did you stay? And why don't you want to be on your own?"

Draco clenched his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

"I stayed because Potter promised to help clear my name." The words left his lips against his will. "I don't want to be on my own because I'm magically weak. And… and…"

Ron regarded him curiously. "And what, Malfoy?"

"Because I'm tired of being on my own, you fucker!" Draco looked at his feet, panting harshly as the Veritaserum literally tore the truth out of his mouth.

"Do you intend any harm towards Harry?"

"_No_."

"Do you intend any harm towards me?"

"I'm considering it…"

"Do you know anything about Hermione's disappearance?"

Draco gasped. Bending over, he clutched painfully at his head. He could _feel_ the warring magic inside his skull, one demanding the truth, the other forbidding it. It was like having two Legilimens inside his head at once, playing a game of tug-o-war with his brain.

"Malfoy?" Ron sounded alarmed. "Malfoy, are you alright?"

"No," Draco ground out, not looking up.

"You do know something about it, don't you? I knew it!"

Although it was a rhetorical question, both the drug and the memory charm seemed to take it literally, sending a painful shock through Draco's body, nearly sending him to his knees. It hadn't been this bad since Harry had tried…

"Potter!" Draco gasped, remembering the soothing, numbing charms Harry had used last time. "Get Potter…"

He wasn't sure why, in retrospect, Ron listened to him. He could've continued to push – surely the Veritaserum would've found what he needed eventually. But the next thing Draco knew, Harry's familiar hands were touching his shoulders, guiding him to a chair. Then a whispered spell and cool tendrils of magic were gently easing away the pain. Draco gasped softly, only this time from relief.

"Is that better?" Harry asked.

Draco gave a tiny nod. "Yes…" He risked a glance, finding Harry's concerned gaze hovering above him.

"What happened?" Harry said softly. One of Harry's hands was still on his shoulder, but Draco wasn't sure if he realized it or not.

He sighed, dropping his head into his arms. "Stupid wanker wouldn't stop asking me questions…"

"Why would that –" Harry paused, and Draco saw the edge of his tea-cup disappear as Harry picked it up. "Oh," was all he said.

"I suppose you keep a supply in the house," Draco muttered without looking up. "Have to be prepared for any ex-Death Eater-convict-fugitives that might drop by."

"No," Harry said softly. The chair scraped as he took a seat. "It's not like that, Malfoy. Ron's just… he's worried about Hermione. He wasn't trying to hurt you."

Draco snorted weakly. "Right. Whatever you say, Potter." Slowly, he raised his head, carefully avoiding Harry's eyes. "What's up with Weasley playing the evil inquisitor anyway? Don't tell me he's an ex-Auror too. Surely the Ministry's standards haven't gotten _that_ low…"

He could feel Harry's frown immediately, but it wasn't that that bothered him – it was the fact he hadn't yet answered. Draco scowled nervously. "Well?"

"You're right," Harry replied, his tone cool. "He's not an _ex_-Auror. He still is one."

Draco felt the air freeze in his lungs. Here he was, thinking Harry was protecting him from the Ministry, protecting both of them really, and Weasley was a bloody _Auror_.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Potter? What makes you think he won't turn me in any second?" Draco crossed his arms, hunching in his chair. "It's not like we're making any progress here anyway."

Harry sighed exasperatedly. "He's not going to turn you in because I asked him not to. He's my friend and I trust him. And since you seem to trust me, whether or not you'll admit it, that'll just have to be good enough."

Despite his stomach still grumbling with hunger, the overwhelming need to leave the kitchen, to get away from all human contact while the Veritaserum continued to course through his system, won out. Draco stood, careful to move slowly as his head twinged.

"I'm going to bed, Potter." He kept his eyes averted. "Do us both a favor and tell Weasley to stay the fuck away from me, won't you?" He started to move but Harry's hand shot out and caught his wrist. Draco froze and couldn't stop himself from staring; this was the first time Harry had touched him willingly. Before, there had always been some overlying reason, but this… this was somehow different…

"What?" Draco asked, aware how hoarse his voice sounded. He cleared his throat. "Potter?"

Harry's eyes stared back into his. "I'm sorry, I know you won't like this, but… I have to ask. Why did you help me today?"

Draco sighed in resignation, turning his head away but not attempting to detach Harry's hand. "Because I didn't want to see you get hurt," he said softly. "Weasley already asked me that, Potter."

Harry nodded. "I figured. I just – I wanted to hear for myself, and you probably wouldn't be completely truthful if I asked you... otherwise."

"You mean if you asked while my will wasn't impaired?" Draco snapped, looking back at Harry, who winced slightly.

"Yes," he answered firmly nonetheless. "I'm sorry. I really am. But you know you would do the same thing if our positions were reversed."

It wasn't a question exactly, more of an assumption, so Draco wasn't sure whether it was the drug or his own brain that compelled him to say what he did next.

"Don't be so sure, Potter," he said in a low voice. "You seem to think I'm still the same person I was back at Hogwarts." Draco could feel his heartbeat quicken as the words spilled from his mouth. He didn't understand why he couldn't seem to stop them. "A lot's happened since then. A lot of things you could never understand… People change, Potter." His voice was barely above a whisper now. "Don't presume you know me. You never did, but especially not now."

Harry's mouth opened once, then closed slowly. They stared at each other for several seconds.

"You're right," Harry said, eventually, not breaking eye-contact. "I guess… I guess we've never really known each other, have we?"

Draco shook his head mutely.

Harry gently released his wrist. "You can go, if you want. I won't make you answer any questions you don't want to. If you stay though, I promise I won't ask anything personal. Just things about Hermione and your mother. See if the Veritaserum can trick the memory charm maybe."

Draco felt as if his feet were rooted to the floor. He needed to leave, his entire being was screaming to escape the situation, but he couldn't seem to move. Why couldn't he move? He drew a ragged breath.

"What do you want to know?" he said softly, finally. "Just," he swallowed. "Just stick to the point, alright. And you better have another one of those spells ready when my head starts to explode again."

Harry nodded. His fingers lightly brushed over Draco's wrist once more. "Why don't you sit back down?"

Draco nodded unsteadily and sank back down at the table. "Go on then."

"Alright," Harry said. He cleared his throat. "Um, when was the last time you saw Hermione Granger?"

"A little over a week ago," Draco answered, relieved not to feel any pain. "August twenty-third, to be exact."

Harry continued. "And where did your last meeting take place?"

"Malfoy Manor."

"Why was she there?"

A small, yet insistent pulsing started behind Draco's eye. But when he opened his mouth to answer, there was nothing stopping him.

"Because my mother is ill. There was something wrong with her, like she'd forgotten the past three or four years ever happened." Draco blinked, suddenly remembering things about his last conversation with Hermione. Things that he hadn't thought of since the disappearance. "Granger examined my mother, discreetly. Afterwards she told me she couldn't find any natural or magical cause for my mother's behavior…" He trailed off, stunned.

Harry was staring at him. "Malfoy," he said slowly. "You do realize, what you just said, it sounds like your memory charm. What if… what if whatever happened to you, also happened to your mother? Only hers was obviously covering a much larger portion of time."

The pulsing sent a vicious stab through Draco's skull. He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. When Harry didn't continue, it lessened.

"Can you keep going?" Harry asked softly.

Draco drew in a shaky breath, opening his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "I think so."

"The man earlier," Harry went on. "I never told you what he said. He warned me about investigating the – any of this. He said this wasn't a unique case either, that there are others who have been taken, people that no one would notice being gone. And Hermione," his voice was growing excited, his eyes bright. "She was onto something that she wouldn't tell me about. Well, not yet, anyway. But she seemed to think _you_ were somehow connected to it."

"How could I be connected to anything?" Draco asked, frowning. "I've been in Azkaban, Potter. Don't you think I'd remember something strange –"

An explosion behind his eyebrows made Draco double over in pain. He tried to breathe through it, but his heartbeat felt erratic and too loud in his ears; he couldn't seem to take a proper breath…

For the third time now, a wave of cooling magic tingled through Draco's body, making him feel slightly drunk off the sensation of _not_ being in agony. He gasped in a lungful of air. Another.

"Try to breathe slowly," Harry said. He sounded concerned. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"I think," Draco whispered, once he was able to speak again. "I think that's probably enough for the night."

Harry's silence seemed to speak for itself, but then a hand was holding onto his elbow, pulling him up from the chair. Draco blinked, staring at Harry.

"Come on." Harry wrapped one arm around Draco's back, supporting him. "I'll help you get to your room."

"I can walk, Potter," Draco protested weakly. And he probably could. Only he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.

The climb up two flights of stairs turned out not to be a bit more difficult than Draco had imagined, and by the time they reached the top he was glad to have Harry's support, strange as it was.

After sitting heavily on his bed, Draco watched silently as Harry disappeared briefly, murmuring something under his breath. When he returned, he was holding a clear potion-bottle, labeled with some illegible writing across the side.

"Here," he said. "It's a pain-potion that directly targets your mind. I started using it when I was learning Legilimency. Used to give myself spectacular headaches all the time."

Draco swallowed the potion without a word, grimacing at the bitter after-taste. Almost instantly, the residual pain in his head dissipated, leaving him rather fuzzy and drowsy in its wake.

"Thanks," Draco said, staring at the floor. Anywhere but at Harry.

He wanted so badly to discuss what it was that had caused the episode, he knew Harry did as well, but he also knew his head couldn't take any more right then. It would have to wait.

"I'm going to sleep," Draco announced. He glanced up. Harry was just standing there, looking awkward, concerned, and incredibly excited all at the same time. Draco shook his head, curling up on his side, facing away from Harry.

"Don't be a creep, Potter," he muttered, closing his eyes. "If I wake up with you standing there, I might very well have a heart attack."

Harry snorted softly. "Good night to you too, Malfoy." And he left.

* * *

"I know he's hiding something!" Ron exclaimed hotly, the moment Harry stepped into his room. He was pacing, red-faced, but stopped to look expectantly at Harry.

Harry crossed his arms. "Yes, Ron, I know. But he's not doing it on purpose. We already went over this."

"Not doing… Harry! It's _Malfoy_! He probably put that memory thing there himself, just to throw you off. And he seems to be doing a pretty damn good job of it too!"

"Ron," Harry took a breath, forcing his angry retort away. "I'm well aware it's Malfoy. But I think sometimes you forget this is _Draco_ Malfoy we're dealing with. Not his father." He glanced at the ground. "I really don't think he'd go that far just to keep us from the truth."

Ron stared at him. "Harry, mate," he spoke slowly. "Are you even listening to yourself? You don't think Malfoy, yes, _Draco_ Malfoy, would go that far? Or have you forgotten about everything he did at Hogwarts? Like, gee, I don't know, nearly killing me, nearly killing _you_."

Harry clenched his fists, the irritation bubbling like small wasps beneath his skin.

"He's a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake!" Ron continued. "He's Lucius Malfoy's son, he's a bloody Death Eater!"

"Can't you see you're being just as prejudiced as you're accusing him of being?" Harry glared at Ron, who glared right back.

"I'm prejudiced because I don't like Death Eaters?" Ron snorted. "That's rich, Harry. And why the fuck do you keep siding with him? He's manipulating you – can't you see that?"

"You know, considering I was manipulated practically my entire life," Harry retorted coolly, "You'd think I'd recognize if it was happening again."

Ron gave him a belligerent look. "Manipulated? What –"

"I was raised to be a sacrifice!" Harry shouted. He could feel himself shaking. "You know as well as I, that my being alive at all is by sheer luck. So, sure, maybe I'm the _Chosen One, _but not because I chose it." He took a breath, trying to calm himself down. "Malfoy can't help his upbringing any more than I can, and if you'd give him half a chance, you'd see that he's not that bad. So why don't you lay the fuck off and let me deal with him."

"Harry," Ron took a step forward, punctuating each word with his finger. "You. Can. Not. Trust. Him. You're being thick. I know you feel sorry for him. Fine, whatever. But you don't _know_ him. You don't know what he's capable of."

"What about what I'm capable of?" Harry snapped. "I'm pretty sure my tally of bodies outranks his by quite a few."

Ron paled, shaking his head. "Harry, we've been over this dozens of times. It wasn't –"

"– my fault," Harry interrupted. "Yeah, I know. So they say. Nothing's ever my fault. I'm just lucky enough that everyone around me seems to drop like flies. My parents, Sirius, Fred, –"

"Harry." Ron's hand shot out and gripped his shoulder tightly. "_Stop_. Just… don't. Alright? None of that has anything to do with Malfoy anyway."

Harry glanced away angrily. "Doesn't it?" He shrugged off Ron's hand. "You're telling me not to trust Malfoy because of what he's done. But you trust me, don't you?"

Ron snorted. "Of course I do."

Harry looked back up. "Then act like it."

Ron's expression hardened slightly, but he stayed silent.

"I'm telling you, he's not doing this on purpose," Harry continued. "I think whatever's going on – something Hermione knew about long before Malfoy was even in the picture – is not his fault. Yes, I think he's involved, and yes, something important is hidden is his blocked memories, but treating him like _that_ is no better than what Voldemort would've done, Ron."

Ron blanched. His lips formed into a thin line.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Harry," he said tightly. "And I really wish I could talk some sense into you about him, but no one's ever really been able to, have they? Not about Malfoy."

Harry felt his face redden slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about," he retorted.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, come off it. It's always been like this with the two of you."

Harry's eyes widened. "What? Ron, I hated him for years!"

"That's not what I mean," Ron groaned. He crossed his arms again. "All through Hogwarts, both of you just had to one-up the other. And I don't even have to remind you about sixth-year. You were bloody obsessed with him – don't bother denying it! – and now, here we are again. Only this time, he's working you to his advantage."

"That's ridiculous," Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I was not _obsessed_…" He scowled. "And he's not. The only advantage he's getting out of being here is a return-ticket to Azkaban."

Ron shook his head. "I think I'll go see my parents in the morning. They don't even know I'm back yet. And, maybe, when I get back, you'll have seen a bit of sense about all this, Harry."

Harry frowned. "Hermione thought he was alright too, you know. And, no, I definitely didn't believe it. Not at first. But honestly, Ron, how many times has Hermione ever been wrong about something? If you don't trust my instincts, I'd think you would at least trust hers."

"I already said I trusted you," Ron muttered, glancing down. "Look, I'll think about it, alright? I'll be back in a couple days, either way."

Harry sighed in frustration. He realized he and Ron were being equally stubborn, but he also realized neither of them would back down easily. So, loathe as Harry was to leave things like this between them, maybe a couple days apart would be for the best.

"Fine," Harry said. "No one in your family can know you've seen me though."

"Yeah, I know," Ron replied, still half muttering. "I'm not stupid."

"I'll see you then." Harry, not bothering to wait for a response, stepped quickly from the room.

He hated fighting with Ron. They didn't do it often, but each time it happened left Harry feeling as miserable as the time before. But, damn it, he knew he was right.

Harry paused outside Draco's room. Feeling some insane urge to make sure the he was still alive, he gently pushed open the door and walked quietly to Draco's bedside.

Draco didn't stir. The potion Harry had given him had a fair amount of sleeping draught in it as well, so he'd be out of it completely for at least another eight or nine hours.

Heart beating strangely fast, Harry sat down in the chair beside the bed, eyes riveted on Draco's sleeping face. He was lying on his side, half-curled, blankets pulled to his chin except for one arm that stuck off the side off the side of the mattress. His left arm, Harry realized; he was just able to make out the shadowed outline of Draco's Dark Mark against the pallor of his skin. Harry leaned forward slightly.

"_Lumos_," he whispered. The tip of his wand glowed softly, providing just enough light for Harry to examine the Mark – he'd never see it up close before.

It was raised off the skin slightly, different from a Muggle tattoo, faded a bit. Harry frowned, leaning closer. Something was odd about it. It wasn't only faded in color though; there were lines that seemed to intersect it, crisscrossing throughout it in haphazard designs. Holding his breath, Harry ran his fingers lightly over Draco's forearm, and only once he'd felt them, the raised, puckered lines of flesh, did he realize the lines were all scars.

Harry frowned and glanced back at Draco's face. He looked peaceful, also a side effect of the potion. Had he inflicted the wounds that formed these scars himself? Or were they the handiwork of someone else?

Draco made a soft noise in his sleep, shifting ever so slightly. Harry quickly pulled his hand away and stood up.

As Harry lay in his own bed a short time later, he found himself wondering when his feelings for Draco Malfoy had taken such an unexpected turn.

* * *

TBC


	11. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

_ Two and a half years earlier, Hermione hesitantly pushed open the door to Harry's room, left slightly ajar and admitting just a faint glow of light into the hallway. Harry sat on his bed, cross-legged, so deeply enthralled in his textbook that he barely glanced up as she entered. _

_ "Harry," Hermione sighed. "You told me you were sleeping better." Frowning gently, Hermione took a seat on the foot of his bed. _

_ Harry glanced up, then shrugged. "Not tonight." He seemed to consider returning to his textbook, but after a few seconds, sighed and looked back to Hermione. "You know what the date is tomorrow, don't you?"_

_ Hermione tucked her hair behind her ears, nodding. "Of course I do, Harry. Is that what's bothering you?"_

_ "It's not…" Harry trailed off and Hermione could see his eyes wandering. "It's just weird, you know? It's September first, and we're not going back to Hogwarts." He blinked, refocusing on Hermione. "I thought after Voldemort was dead, everything would go back to normal, is all…"_

_ "Harry…" Hermione bit her lip. Harry looked awful – the trials, funerals, award ceremonies, reporters – they were all taking their toll on him in a way that even the last seven years hadn't. And she knew that wasn't all. _

_ After the battle at Hogwarts, Harry had quietly pulled Ron and her aside, telling them with as few words as possible what had transpired in the Forbidden Forest. He didn't leave anything out; in fact, he was extremely straight-forward, but his story nagged at Hermione for weeks. She'd even asked him to repeat it, once things had calmed down a bit, and still something continued to bother her. Until finally, another afternoon of sitting through endless Ministry hearings and trials, Hermione realized why it all sounded so wrong. This was Harry, Harry who couldn't keep his emotions in check for the life of him, and everything about his story sounded as if it were from a textbook. There was no emotion, no personal connection. Harry told the tale of his death as dispassionately as if he were speaking of a man who'd died hundreds of years ago._

_ "It's not like we can't finish school," Hermione offered, although she knew that wasn't the main reason for Harry's distress. "And since we're doing our courses from home, there will be much more time to study! No mandatory breaks between classes, closed library hours…"She smiled, quite energized by the thought. _

_ Harry raised his eyebrows, smiling as well. "Hermione, I think you may be the first person ever to literally study themselves to death."_

_ Hermione snorted. "Well, if I want to get into the Observer training program, I have to finish by winter term. That's the latest they'll take new admissions." _

_ "What exactly is an observer again?" Harry asked, a smile still lingering about his lips. _

_ "Honestly, Harry." Hermione made a show of rolling her eyes, the relief at seeing Harry smiling and talking vastly outweighing any indignation of needing to explain her career choice yet again. "It's a bit like a Muggle social worker. Except, obviously, there are many more complications involved, since we're looking after witches and wizards."_

_ Harry nodded. "I knew that…"_

_ Hermione licked her lips. "And what about you, Harry? Have you figured out what you want to do yet?"_

_ Harry gave her a look. "You already know what I want to do, Hermione."_

_ "Yes, I know," Hermione said tightly. "Be an Auror… Oh Harry, it can be so dangerous! I understood why you wanted to do it before, of course, but now… I mean, haven't you already done enough?"_

_ "If I can survive the Killing Curse two times, I think I can survive being an Auror," Harry replied in a flat voice, his gaze wandering again. _

_ Hermione flinched and looked down at her lap. "Of course you can, Harry." She raised her eyes, watching him imploringly. "I just don't understand why you think you _have_ to." _

_ The silence in the room seemed to thicken with every second, becoming almost palpable when Harry failed to reply for several moments. When he finally met Hermione's gaze, she was shocked by the raw, implicit emotions she saw lingering in his eyes. _

_ "Saving other people is the only thing I've ever known, Hermione. What else would you have me do?"_

* * *

Draco drifted slowly toward consciousness. His whole body felt warm and fuzzy, somewhat akin to the sensation of being drunk, he realized, rolling lazily to his side. Whatever Harry had given him the night before, it had sure as hell worked.

A soft snore from only a few feet away prompted Draco to jerk wildly in surprise, snapping open his eyes and raising his arms defensively at the same time. Only once the initial rush of adrenalin had faded did he realize what exactly he was seeing.

Harry sat drooped in a half-contorted and truly uncomfortable looking position in the bedside chair, head lolling to the side, mouth half-open. Draco thought he could see a bit of drool glistening on the side of his mouth.

"Potter!" he said loudly.

"Wha-!" Harry yelped and promptly tumbled out of the chair, landing in a less than graceful heap on the floor. He shook his head slowly before looking up at Draco with a thoroughly irritated expression, blinking owlishly.

Draco smirked. "Morning."

Harry scowled and rubbed the side of his eye. "What the hell was that for?"

"You were in a strange position," Draco replied innocently, sitting up but not forsaking the warmth of his blankets quite yet. "I didn't want you to get a stiff neck."

"Right." Harry shook his head again.

Draco crossed his arms loosely. "Which leads us to the question of why you were sleeping in here in the first place…"

Harry's face reddened slightly. "I came back to keep an eye on you," he muttered. "Falling asleep wasn't really the plan."

"Harry Potter, watching over me while I sleep – how things have changed," Draco said. When Harry didn't immediately rebuke him, he started to feel a bit awkward. "Won't Weasley have something to say about you spending the night in the same room as a Death Eater?" Draco laughed self-depreciatingly. "Apparently I have plans to murder you as soon as possible, after all."

Harry gave him a look. "How's your head?"

Draco shrugged and glanced away. "Fantastic. How else would it be? Oh, wait, could it possibly feel like I was drugged and interrogated by an Auror last night?"

"And speaking of Ron," Harry continued, ignoring him, "he's gone for a few days. I'm hoping you and I can figure a good deal out before he's back."

"Sure thing," Draco muttered. He glanced back at Harry, annoyed to find him still watching him with the same odd expression. "What?" he snapped.

Harry seemed to consider him a moment before answering. "Are you sure there's nothing that happened in Azkaban that might be related to all of this?" he asked slowly. "Things that shouldn't have been going on?"

Draco's blood froze in his veins, and forcing himself to keep a steady gaze on Harry became almost physically painful. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied flatly. "And obviously, if I did, I couldn't tell you anyway. Remember that nasty little memory-charm we've been working on lately?"

"That's not what I'm talking about." Harry frowned. Getting to his knees, he reached for Draco's wrist. Draco honestly didn't think he could move at the moment, so he didn't bother trying, not even as Harry gently turned his left wrist upwards, revealing the ugly tattoo marking his skin.

"These scars," Harry said softly. "Voldemort isn't responsible for these. Your Mark was examined during your trial, I would've remembered." He paused, taking a slow breath. "Did you do that to yourself?"

Draco gave a shaky half-laugh. "Are you asking if I tried to kill myself, Potter?" He swallowed. "I know I've failed at everything else I've ever tried, but even I could figure out how to off myself if I wanted."

Harry continued to frown, not letting go of his wrist. "Then someone else did it. Who?"

"Why the fuck does it matter?" he tried to jerk his arm free, but Harry only tightened his grip. Draco glared at him. "I promise it's not a _special magic scar_ like yours, Potter. No half-dead Dark Lord is going to come jumping out of it, so you can stop worrying."

"You were in a Ministry controlled prison," Harry went on. "A prison with rules and regulations about how its occupants are to be treated. Most of the witches and wizards working there are former Ministry workers, who _know_ those rules and regulations."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the rundown of Ministry procedure, Potter. I'm truly amazed you didn't last longer there."

"You just told me you didn't cause these scars yourself, Malfoy. So that means someone who works in Azkaban came into your cell –"

"Leave it, Potter…" Draco ground his teeth.

"– sliced up your arm, probably left you bleeding for awhile, because those were _not_ healed magically –"

Draco clenched his free fist.

"– and judging by the number of scars, I imagine this happened what, six or seven times?" Harry stared at him with a strange expression. "Why wouldn't you ever say anything? People can't just _do_ those kinds of things to other people, Malfoy. If you had reported this –"

"Oh, _fuck off_!" Draco finally managed to yank his arm free. He slid off the bed quickly and stepped out of Harry's reach. Harry's bewildered expression only made him angrier. "What kind of utopian world do you live in, Potter? People don't 'do those kinds of things to other people' – are you serious? Well, that must be a recent development, because the world I grew up in was _exactly_ like that. People do whatever the fuck they want – sometimes they get punished for it, most of the time they don't. For Merlin's sake, Potter, think about the man I grew up with! Dear old Dad was a shining example of a role-model, after all."

Harry looked at him steadily. "I'm well aware the world's not fair," he said slowly. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try to do the right thing whenever we have the chance."

Draco stared, heart pounding hard.

"I'm sorry," Harry continued, standing quickly and heading to the door. "I promised I wouldn't badger you about Azkaban. But… if it means getting any closer to figuring out the memory charm, I will." He pulled open the door. "I'll start breakfast. The potion is supposed to be taken with food anyway, so you should probably come down pretty soon."

Draco sat down slowly on his bed. A strange feeling was creeping through him, one he couldn't quite name, accompanied by a gradual slowing of his pulse. Why did Harry keep doing that? Acting like he cared… like Draco's problems were somehow worth worrying about… Draco hated it.

Worse things happened to people every day. Draco didn't see himself as anything more than a statistic, an example of what bad circumstances, and bad decisions, could do to a person. And it's not like he hadn't brought the majority of it on himself anyway. Draco sighed, dropping his head into his hands. He'd like nothing more than to forget the last three or four years had ever happened. In some ways, his mother not remembering anything had been alright… because that meant Draco didn't have to either.

But Harry, who kept asking questions, pushing, and most of all, having the nerve to sound affronted by things he had absolutely no business knowing, let alone mentioning. Draco pulled his head up and stared at his wrist. The scars were ugly, but the tattoo underneath was uglier. Why couldn't Harry understand that Draco had _chosen_ it, damnit? No one had forced him, held him down, threatened him. Anything that had happened afterwards, well, in many ways he had chosen that as well. Harry had absolutely _no right_ to feel any different.

Downstairs, the smell of salty bacon and coffee immediately assaulted Draco's nostrils as he stepped into the kitchen. He wrinkled his nose slightly, slipping into a chair. He still wasn't quite used to heavily seasoned food again, but he'd be damned before complaining about something else to Harry – it's not like he didn't seem pitiful enough already.

"So I was thinking we could practice magic later," Harry said casually, turning around from the stove.

Draco scowled. "What the hell are you on about, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, turning back around. "Well, obviously I don't know that much about it, but if your magic is weak from not being used, I figure the only way to strengthen it, is to use it. Right?"

Draco continued to scowl, although it was borne more of confusion than annoyance. "Brilliant, Potter. I never knew you had it in you."

He watched silently as Harry set food on the table and poured them two steaming cups of coffee. And then, suddenly, reached across the table and set a wand in front of him.

"Here," he said, watching Draco. "You can practice with this."

"Is this…" Draco frowned, noticing Harry's own wand sticking out of his pocket. "Whose wand is this?" He picked it up delicately. Even if it wasn't his own, simply holding a real wand in his fingers, for the first time in years, was enough to raise gooseflesh on his arms.

"A friend's," Harry answered cagily, forking a huge mouthful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

Draco wasn't buying it. "Then why doesn't this 'friend' have his or her wand?"

"None of your business," Harry said shortly.

Draco snorted. "You can interrogate me whenever the urge strikes, but if the great Harry Potter has a secret, Merlin forbid someone ask _him_ a question about it…"

"Do you want the wand or not, Malfoy?" Harry snapped.

Draco shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth with a grimace.

"Satisfied?"

The side of Harry's mouth quirked into a small smile. "We'll start after breakfast."

* * *

Harry rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time in the past few hours. No wonder Snape had been such a bitter, mean teacher – imagine teaching an entire house full of people who acted like this.

"Malfoy," he ground out, forcing his voice to remain calm, "get a bloody grip. No one said this was going to be a fast process."

Draco glared at him. "I can't even manage a fucking Protego, Potter." He angrily shoved his hair out of his face. "That's beyond pathetic."

"It's not pathetic," Harry sighed. He was beginning to feel oddly repetitive. "It takes practice, and like you said, you haven't exactly been doing much of that lately."

"I can, however, perform a killer summoning spell when it's time for afternoon tea," Draco muttered, scowling at the floor. "Maybe it's this stupid wand."

Harry clenched his fists. "It's _not_ the wand, Malfoy. Don't –" He sighed again. That was definitely not a subject that needed broaching. "Never mind. Maybe it's too soon for Protego."

Draco gave him a strange look, without quite losing his scowl. "You're awfully touchy about this wand, Potter. Wait, this didn't belong to one of your dearly departed parents, did it? Because that would just be awkward… you know, considering I used to work for the man who killed them."

"Fuck off," Harry said tiredly. "And quit trying to start shit. We have work to do."

"Since when did you learn to control your temper?" Draco smirked as he pointed his wand at a nearby chair and successfully levitated it. "If you're in an anger management program or something, you should probably tell me."

Harry was, actually, rather amazed at how Draco's snide comments didn't sting like they used to. Didn't mean they weren't still annoying as ever…

"Seriously, Malfoy. Maybe we're approaching this all wrong. Defensive spells weren't really your forte back in school, were they? What…" Harry trailed off, belatedly realizing the answer to his own unspoken question.

The chair landed back on the ground with slightly more force than necessary. Draco flicked his wand and began unsteadily lifting an entire bookcase into the air. "You can say it, Potter," he said flatly. "I was shite at defensive spells. Well, that's not really true. I just never had much practice with them." The bookcase set back on the ground "Offensive, on the other hand…" He flicked his wand and the bookcase burst into flames. "Those I could do."

Harry stared at Draco, whose eyes clearly reflected the flickering columns of fire. "_Aguamenti_," Harry intoned softly.

Draco jerked his head toward Harry, staring hard at him. "So what do you think; should I start with Diffindo? Maybe move onto Crucio in a couple days?"

Harry shook his head as he finished extinguishing the fire. "Just because you didn't use defensive magic before, doesn't mean you can't learn it now."

"Bloody fantastic," Draco muttered, adding his own Aguamenti spell to the smoking remains of the bookcase. "I always did dream of becoming part of that little fifth-year circle jerk you had going."

A sudden rush of blood made Harry's face feel as hot as the flames they'd just put out. Just what the hell was _that_ all about?

"It wasn't…" Harry's face grew even hotter. "Nothing like _that_…" Oh, god.

Draco laughed. "What the hell, Potter? Guilty conscience much? Although I always did imagine you and the Weasel…" He made a sour face. "Never mind. There is nothing about that sentence I would ever care to imagine."

Harry couldn't help but smile, despite his fumbling. "Trust me. Ron is like my brother. I could never do that..." Harry groaned. "I should really just stop talking now. Permanently."

"No protest here," Draco added helpfully. Harry wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but Draco's voice sounded a bit off, all of a sudden.

"Okay, back to practicing," Harry said sternly. He felt almost relieved as the familiar expression of an annoyed scowl settled back on Draco's face.

"How about Engorgio?" Draco suggested with a smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes.

* * *

"Fuck…" Draco grimaced and turned around the moment he heard Ron's obnoxious voice behind him a few days later.

"Nice to see you too, Malfoy," Ron said, a scowl equal to Draco's marring his features. Not that his features needed much help looking any worse.

Draco sneered. "Forgive my lack of cordial attitude, Auror Weasel – I mean Weasley. But I've been doing just fine without your gracious presence."

Ron snorted. "I bet. Been digging your claws into my friend even further, have you?" He crossed his arms. "Don't think your little performance the other night has me fooled. I know what you are, Malfoy."

Draco seriously doubted that. Considering he himself, didn't know what he was nowadays, the probability of Ron Weasley knowing was far from likely.

"Oh, you know what I am?" Draco put a hand over his heart and rolled his eyes dramatically. "My poor Death Eating heart can't take all this tension, Weasley. Do tell."

"Cut the crap, you nasty little git." Ron took a threatening step forward. "Or should we have another tell-all session like the other night?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Do your best, Weasley. Just don't cry when you get hurt." He casually pulled out his wand from his back pocket, bringing it into Ron's line of site for the first time. Ron's eyes widened considerably.

"Where the fuck did you get a wand?" he said angrily, though not making a move to palm his own.

"Potter gave it to me," Draco answered, smirking slightly. "Or didn't he run that one by you?"

Ron's face instantly turned the color of his hair and, without another word, he whirled around and left the room, no doubt on his way to confront Harry about his severe lack of judgment. Draco rolled his eyes and re-pocketed his wand. He didn't exactly blame Ron for his attitude – how could anyone who came from that household turn out quite right? not to mention how thoroughly awful Draco had been to him back at Hogwarts – but Draco couldn't afford to let him in his way either. Not if he wanted to find his mother and stay out of Azkaban. It was becoming more and more obvious Harry was the way to achieving both of those, so the sooner Harry became fed up with Ron and sent him on his way, the better.

Once Ron's stomping footsteps reached the top of the stairs, Draco made his way toward the kitchen, hungrier than usual after practicing spells all afternoon. It still felt frustratingly slow, but Harry continuously urged him on and assured him. Draco, tired of feeling like an invalid, capable of even less than the average first year, continued.

The foyer felt especially drafty as Draco stepped into it. He glanced at the door, wondering if stupid Ron had forgotten to close it all the way, but his attention was instead drawn to a pile of mail scattered across the floor, particularly a dark green envelope that looked nearly Slytherin in coloring. Draco frowned. He carefully picked up the letter.

_Harry J. Potter, _it read. No address, no return address, no seal, no signifying marks of any type. A prime candidate for being from the strange wizard who'd attacked Harry the other day.

A door slammed upstairs and the faint sound of Ron's angry voice carried through the house. A moment later, someone began coming down the stairs. Draco rolled his eyes again and quickly ducked into the kitchen, having no intention of getting caught in Ron's ginger path of fiery rage.

He grabbed a knife and sat down. Harry probably wouldn't appreciate Draco opening his mail, but considering he was already a wanted fugitive, what difference could it make? The letter slid out easily, followed by an odd looking ring that landed on the table. Draco frowned. He hadn't noticed anything like that being in the envelope.

"Thanks for getting Ron going, Malfoy," Harry said, suddenly barging through the door. "Now he's – Draco, don't!"

But Draco's fingers had already closed around the ring. Before he could even process Harry's warning, a familiar sensation hooked into Draco and tore him forcibly from 12 Grimmauld Place.

* * *

TBC


	12. Chapter Eleven

A/N: Alright, here we go again. It's been a looooong time since I updated this last... for that, I deeply apologize – I too, am a fan-fiction whore, and still refuse to read an incomplete story for fear of something like this happening. Dear readers, I'm sorry for putting you through this pain. But alas, this story has never been far from my mind. It's just taken a bit for me to transport those thoughts onto paper, so to speak. I hope you enjoy, and I promise to update soon!

Disclaimer: I own my thoughts and obsessions, but sadly nothing of the world created by JK Rowling.

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

"Fuck!" Harry cursed angrily, his arms wrapping around nothing but air as he lunged in a futile attempt to stop Draco. Draco, who obviously had no idea not to pick up strange objects from anonymous senders in the mail, and could now be absolutely anywhere. Moving as fast as possible, Harry began recounting every ounce of training he possessed, rattling off locator spells, searching for any minute clue the sender may have left behind.

"Ron!" he called. "Get the fuck down here, please!"

Ron's still annoyed face appeared around the corner only moments later, but his brow was furrowed in obvious concern. It wasn't often that Harry spoke to him like that anymore.

"What the hell, Harry? I could hear you shouting all the way upstairs." He crossed his arms.

Harry barely heard him as he continued firing spell after spell at the green envelope, a fact that Ron finally caught onto, as his face grew considerably more serious.

"What's going on, mate?" he asked, circling the table to gain an equal view of the object in question.

"There was a fucking portkey in the envelope, Ron," Harry explained quickly. He paused, forcing himself to take a deep breath. "I walked in here and saw Malfoy grabbing for it, but I was too late to stop him." He shook his head. "The envelope is completely clean. Not even a slight magical signature."

Ron stared hard at the envelope for a moment. "It's not Ministry. If they knew Malfoy was here, even if I hadn't heard about it, they wouldn't do something this subtle."

Harry snorted in agreement. "Definitely not." He tried another spell and frowned. "I don't even think it was sent by owl. This is regular post."

"Why would a portkey be sitting around in a Muggle envelope?" Ron glared at the table, as if willing it to give him the answer. "Anyone could've accidentally opened it…"

"And it wouldn't make sense for, well, whoever it is that's responsible for Hermione and Narcissa Malfoy's disappearances to have done it. They obviously had the chance to take him before, so why do it now?" Harry closed his eyes for a second, hating to think he might have just seen another person he cared about for the last time… Yes, he could admit that readily enough now. He cared for Draco Malfoy, annoying git that he was, but he definitely didn't deserve any more harm than had already befallen him in his short life.

"Well, what about that crazy bloke from the park?" Ron continued, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. "This seems plenty strange enough for him, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded slowly. Though not terribly convinced the cloaked, blue-eyed wizard was crafty enough for something like a disguised portkey, it at least gave them a place to start.

"I've still got the letter he sent," Harry confirmed. "I'll get it." As he turned to leave, he glanced at Ron's intent face. "Ron… thanks."

Ron shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah, yeah. You can make it up to me later. For now, maybe the wand you gave Malfoy will actually come in handy. As in, not used to maim either of us."

Harry smiled tightly, and then turned and bounded up the stairs.

* * *

Draco's breath left him in a whoosh as he crashed into the ground. Sqeezing his eyes shut against the pain, he dug his fingers into the strangely pliant earth beneath them and pushed upward, belatedly realizing the ring – no, portkey – was digging into his palm still.

"Fuck..." he breathed, forcing open his streaming eyes. Where was he? Barely half past noon, yet the only light in this place came from flickering torches, casting eerie shadows around a vast room that seemed to be made entirely of dirt. He couldn't even see the ceiling, meerly a heavy darkness looming down on him.

Draco moved cautiously to his feet. As he bent his right leg, something stuck sharply into his thigh. If he didn't know better, he might have thought his wand was back...

_His wand!_

Berating himself mentally for not remembering sooner, Draco yanked the borrowed wand from his pocket and thrust it in front of him. His heart thumped erratically as he stared around into the darkness, wondering if someone, or something, was waiting for him there.

"Draco!"

A hourse cry echoed loudly around the cavern, eliciting a surprised yelp from Draco as he whirled around to face the source of the noise. He expected a large Auror, or an Azkaban guard to be waiting for him there. He definitely didn't expect Hermione Granger.

"It worked!" she exclaimed, more softly. "Oh my, I can't believe it actually worked!"

Draco stared at her. Hermione's face looked ghostly pale and marked with a few livid, red marks on her cheeks and chin. But she was smiling brilliantly.

"What?" he stammered. "Granger, where the hell are we? Have you been _hiding_ down here?"

Hermione flushed, waving a hand dismissively. "No, of course not," she said. "I was kidnapped. Well, kind of. I suppose, technically, I was recruited."

Something was clearly wrong. Her words stumbled out of her mouth alarmingly fast, almost in a ramble. Draco tightened his fist around the wand.

"Kidnapped? And you thought you'd bring me down here to join you?"

Draco frowned at himself. No, that wasn't quite right. The letter had been addressed to Harry, after all. Only Draco had decided to be a prat and open it himself. Fantastic.

Hermione shook her head again. "No, no, it's not like that. Just, just _listen_! Alright?" She paused, sucking in a few deep breaths. "I don't have much time. The portkey will reactivate soon and take you. But I have things to tell you first."

"If I can leave with the portkey, so can you," Draco said slowly, eyeing her.

"No," Hermione breathed. "It's so much more complicated than that. Now please, for once in your life, shut up and _listen to me_."

The sheer amount of disbelief Draco felt rendered him speechless for several minutes as he listened to Hermione. She didn't pause for him to ask questions, only begged him to listen and memorize everything she said, so as to reiterate it back to Ron and Harry later.

"It's strange," he said, after she'd finished speaking. "All of this you're telling me... my memory..." he struggled to find the right word, in light of all she'd told him. "It shouldn't be letting me hear any of this, right? It doesn't make any sense."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "It's because of where we are. Here, in the center of it all. It's like... like you've looped it back in on itself, back to the starting point. And I _knew_ bringing you here would let me know for sure – that you were part of it, I mean. You and your mother."

Draco could barely keep track of everything. So many questions sat on the edge of his tongue, he didn't know where to start.

"You meant it to be me, then?" he asked, settling on the most obvious of them. "Even though the letter was for Potter."

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "Well, I knew Harry would know better than to grab strange objects falling out of strange envelopes... So, yes, I figured – hoped – you would touch it."

Scowling, feeling rather stupid, Draco took a slow step forward. "You shouldn't stay here, Granger. You should be the one to come back and tell everyone, not me."

A sound, not unlike that of a gong, crashed through the cavern. Draco winced, fighting the urge to clap his hands to his ears.

"What's happening?" He had to yell to be heard over the brassy echoes.

Hermione bit her lip, but backed away. "No, I can't leave. I'm so close to understanding it all!" Her eyes were shining. "If I just see it through, then we can figure out a way to stop it." Hermione's voice grew higher as she too, fought to be heard over another long crash. "Please, Draco, please say you'll help. What's they've done... it's awful! But we can undo it, make things right again!"

Draco felt the ring begin to vibrate in his hand. It was reactivating. "I'll help!" he shouted. "I prom – "

And he was gone.

* * *

Harry stared listlessly into his glass of Butterbeer. The bubbles and creamy swirls had long since dissolved into nothingness, leaving only a luke-warm, flat liquid in their wake.

All day, all goddamn day, he and Ron had spent searching. Harry hadn't returned to Grimmauld Place – and Ron to his own flat – until near midnight, the futile feeling he'd been fighting since that morning, finally catching up to him in the form of exhaustion. But he couldn't sleep.

Harry sighed, resting his forehead on the table. He couldn't accept it, that he'd lost Draco that easily, not after all the promises and reassurances he'd offered. It would seem, in the form of one, tiny ring, Draco had disappeared as thoroughly as Hermione.

"Kreacher?"

The ancient house-elf appeared with a crack. "Master called to Kreacher?"

Not bothering to look up, Harry nodded slightly. "You can sense if anyone is searching for Grimmauld Place, can't you? I mean, if it's someone who doesn't know how to get in."

"Kreacher knows. Kreacher can feel it when someone unworthy wishes to enter the noble house of Black..."

Harry rolled his eyes, but was quite used to the occasional comment of this variety finding it's way from Kreacher's mouth, even if the elf had pledged loyalty to him.

"Have you... have you sensed anything today? Anyone trying to find it, that is?"

Kreacher made a low, growling sound. "Bad witches and wizards from the Ministry of Magic always trying to find it, master. Every day, Kreacher feels them and hopes they die from the longing..."

Harry started, looking at Kreacher for the first time since he'd entered the room. Ministry people searching for 12 Grimmauld Place?

"You mean just recently, Kreacher? How long had this been going on?"

Kreacher shuffled slightly, his skin creaking like old leaves. "For years. Years and years, Kreacher has been feeling them." His milky eyes suddenly grew hopeful. "Does master wish Kreacher to do away with them now?"

"No, Kreacher, absolutely not." Harry shook his head, not caring to think what Kreacher considered this particular act to consist of. "But you haven't noticed anyone different today, have you? Not Draco Malfoy?"

"Kreacher does not know where dear Narcissa's son has gone," Kreacher's voice cracked with emotion. Harry knew he'd probably start crying soon and he sighed again.

"That's alright. Just... just let me know if you do, alright?"

Gurgling out a tearful acknowledgment, Kreacher Disapparated, most likely returning to his cubby-hole of Black family treasures he kept in the attic.

Deciding it was far past due for such things, Harry stood and pulled a bottle of firewhisky from the cupboard. He quickly downed three, burning gulps. Maybe this, if nothing else, would strike him with a bit of inspiration on what to do next.

* * *

Sometime later, thoroughly saturated with alcohol, Harry Apparated to a park in London. Upon landing almost completely on his feet, he spent a moment congratulating himself on not splinching anything off. Apparating while drunk was, for that obvious reason, not recommended.

Harry quickly found his way to a bench and sunk down onto the slightly damp wood. This was the same park he'd been attacked, where Draco had tackled the strange wizard and saved Harry's life, or at least his sanity. Harry had, of course, already searched here earlier, but it simply seemed the right place to be, now.

He couldn't figure it out. Hermione had been missing for weeks. All the worry, the fear and anger, even an inkling of guilt had been with Harry this entire time... But now he was feeling all those things again, this time with even more force... for Draco Malfoy.

"I don't understand," Harry muttered to himself. He didn't much care at the moment that he was sitting by himself at four A.M, talking out loud to an empty park. "I don't even like him. He's such a git... a complete wanker... annoying bastard..."

_But I don't hate him either_. Harry swallowed, remembering Draco's unguarded words, confessed only when he'd thought Harry unconscious.

"I don't hate him..." Harry whispered. His breath misted in front of his face and he shivered.

Ron had said Harry was obsessed with Draco, that their relationship had always been something strange, something _not quite normal_ for two boys their age. Harry snorted. But what the hell did that even mean?

Harry scowled, suddenly pulled from his hazy musings by an annoying cracking sound. Some equally inebriated kids, no doubt, making a rucus in the alleyway across the street. Stupid kids, should know better than the mess around with firecrackers and such...

With a gasp, Harry rushed to his feet, nearly toppling over in the process. That sound hadn't been firecrackers. No, it had sounded considerably more like a spell being fired into a wall.

Moving as quickly as he dared, Harry jogged toward the sound. It hadn't come from the same alley he and Draco had hid in, but still... there was a chance.

Harry dodged a car, sprinting across the sparsely populated street and into the dark alleyway. There was a dim, bluish light on the other side of the rubbish bin, a light attached to...

"Well, it certainly took you long enough," Draco exclaimed, staring up at Harry from his spot on the wall.

"You're... you're not dead." Harry didn't know what made him say it, didn't even know he'd been thinking anything along those lines until that moment.

Draco stood and gave Harry an odd look. "Should I be?"

Harry swallowed thickly, holding out his hand. "Come on."

They Apparated directly into the upper floor of Grimmauld Place. Harry, again, felt immensely relieved both he and Draco managed to arrive there intact, but didn't voice this aloud.

Harry's cheeks burned, realizing he still held tightly to Draco's colder hand. Every instinct told him to let go, go to bed, let them talk things over in the morning... all of these things lost to a combination of alcohol and endorphins shooting through Harry's brain, and he tightened his hand around Draco's.

Draco stared back at him, eyes wide. "You're... You're completely hammered, aren't you!" His grey eyes flashed angrily. "Seriously, Potter? I've been waiting all fucking day for your not-so brilliant arse to show up, and you've been out getting _wasted_?"

"No..." Harry felt a small inkling of annoyance wiggling away beneath his skin, but he still didn't let go. "I thought..." Moving unsteadily, he shifted positions so he was standing directly in front of Draco, so close their chests nearly touched. "I thought you were gone... I'd never get to see you again."

Draco had gone stiff as a statue, his breath barely whispering against Harry's face. Abruptly, he yanked his hand from Harry and backed away.

"I'm going to bed, Potter," he explained. Harry didn't understand why he sounded so shaky. "I'll tell you everything in the morning, alright?"

* * *

Harry's fevered gaze didn't move as Draco backed up, stopping as his back brushed the wall. Draco continued to stare as well, something giving his pause, although the other part of him screamed he flee through the bedroom door and spell it shut. When Harry took another step toward him, Draco didn't move.

This was what he wanted, right? He'd wanted to make Harry care... and here they were, Harry clearly out of his mind with worry, and now relief.

Harry continued forward. One step, two, three... Draco shivered involuntary as Harry pressed himself against Draco, hands moving gently to either side of his face, lowering his lips...

Draco parted his mouth slightly, and he and Harry were kissing.

Harry tasted like firewhisky, his tongue spicy and hot against Draco's. Draco could feel Harry's heart thumping heavily through their clothing, could feel his hands as they tangled in hair, could feel Harry's obvious erection pressing into his leg. Draco made a small sound in his throat, turning his face away from Harry. He felt shaky all over, terrified, but his body every bit as excited as Harry's.

Apparently taking this as a note to continue elsewhere, Harry continued planting hot kisses down Draco's throat, hands sliding down his chest and abdomen. Draco shuddered as Harry fumbled at his trousers, eventually shoving them down just far enough to expose Draco's engorged cock.

"Potter..." Draco said unsteadily, not sure exactly why he spoke. He wanted this release badly, needed it...

Harry's mouth abruptly covered his own once more. A moment later, Draco realized Harry had shoved his own pants down, pressing himself against Draco. Soft throaty sounds intertwined with their kissing as their cocks rubbed together, joined together in nearly unbearable heat and friction as Harry gathered them in his fist and began working it up and down.

Draco felt another sound escape his throat, one that he involuntary quenched down before remembering he didn't need to. This was Harry, not anyone else... he could make sound... he could get off if he wanted.

He worked to focus on the feel of Harry's tongue and lips, on the gentleness of Harry's hands. There was no pain, no shame in this.

Harry must have intoned some sort of lubricating spell, because suddenly his fist pumped faster, more easily. Draco could feel delicious tendrils of pleasure working their way through his body, ready to release, to explode. He cried out softly a moment later, throwing his head back against the wall as he came. Harry's hand continued to move for several seconds longer, until he moaned and shuddered, falling forward to rest against Draco. Together, they slid to the floor in a not entirely graceful heap.

"... mm so glad you're here..." Harry murmured into his chest.

Draco rested his cheek against the top of Harry's head. And, strangely, decided he was glad as well.

* * *

TBC


	13. Chapter Twelve

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed! As fair warning for this chapter, there's, well, a lot of sex. I didn't warn anyone about the last scene from the previous chapter, but if sex of the boy/boy variety is not your thing, feel free to turn away now. Other than that, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Harry awoke the following morning in his own bed. He blinked hazily, wondering just how he had ended up back in his room... Talking to Kreacher, several drinks, returning from London with Draco, sex in the hallway... ah, that would be it then.

Feeling a bit flushed, Harry threw back his sheets and, finding himself in the same clothes from last night, decided a quick shower was definitely in order. Or perhaps simply a Scourgify. After all, more pressing matters were at hand.

Several minutes later, and considerably more hygienic, Harry stopped in front of Draco's room, his fingers poised around the handle. His stomach clenched slightly. What the hell had last night meant for them? Harry was hardly one to over analyze things of this variety, – a fuck was only a fuck – but what had happened with Draco... well, that had been borne of more than carnal instincts. At least for Harry. He swallowed nervously. What if Draco didn't feel the same way? What if – Harry sighed, feeling utterly ridiculous. Wondering what the hell was wrong with him, he knocked lightly on the door before going in.

"Malfoy?"

Draco was not in his bed. For an alarming moment, Harry thought he'd disappeared again, but quickly spotted Draco where he sat on the floor, one knee pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around it. He was looking at Harry, but didn't make a move to speak.

"Er," Harry cleared his throat, "morning."

Draco blinked slowly, but remained oddly silent. The soft morning light streamed in through the window behind him, illuminating his hair so it nearly looked white, and casting a shadow about his face. Harry had a sudden urge to run his fingers through those silky locks, press his lips on Draco's skin...

Harry shuffled awkwardly to the bed and sat.

"So..." Harry coughed lightly, unsure why his throat suddenly felt so dry and scratchy. "Have you been up all night?" He almost instantly regretted his choice of words, and then wondered when he'd started feeling like a gawky teenage boy with a crush all over again.

"Mostly," Draco answered, his voice very soft. Moving with what looked like deliberate slowness, he sat forward, stood, and stepped closer to the bed. Harry stared, locking eyes, but as usual, could see nothing recognizable behind Draco's pale orbs.

Harry's heartbeat quickened as Draco reached for him, laying both hands across his chest, and pushed gently. Harry didn't resist, falling back against the mattress as Draco climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs, fingers deftly undoing the buttons on Harry's trousers.

"Malfoy..." Harry breathed. "Draco... what... what are you...?"

Draco glanced up, the unnameable expression still on his face. "What does it look like, Potter?" His voice was low, almost a purr. Strangely, it too seemed rather blank, but Harry didn't think much on it right then.

"You've been with men before?" Draco asked, pausing momentarily. "Aside from last night?"

Harry nodded jerkily, struggling to keep his focus as Draco's hand found it's way inside his shorts. "Yeah, a few..." He made a sound as Draco's hand wrapped around his cock. "Y – you? You're not a... a virgin, right?" Harry felt suddenly mortified at the thought of him snatching away Draco's innocence last night, but was quickly relieved by a shake of Draco's head.

"No," Draco said, raising an eyebrow. "Definitely not a virgin."

"Good." With a quick flick on his wand, Harry banished both their clothes, leaving a very naked Draco sitting atop a very naked Harry. Now this was definitely a sight neither of them had ever seen coming several years past.

Draco looked momentarily stunned to find himself wearing only his skin, but quickly recovered, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly. "Really now, Potter. And here I thought you would be one to fuck under the sheets, in the dark."

Harry grinned. Nerves mostly conquered, he flipped them over, landing in quite the right spot to grind his hips forward against Draco's. Draco's mouth opened in an exhaled breath and he shuddered bodily.

Eyes half-lidded and staring upward, Draco breathed, "fuck me, Potter."

Harry hardly needed to be told, but he swiftly intoned a lubrication charm before tossing his wand aside on the bed. He wanted both hands free for this.

Draco gasped as Harry rubbed one hand between his legs, and moved the other lazily around his cock.

"Hold on." Draco disentangled himself from Harry, flipping onto his stomach, propping himself up slightly on his elbows. "I like it like this better."

Awash in a haze of lust, Harry said, "alright," before thrusting his hips forward and sinking his throbbing cock into Draco's arse. The hot, tight heat nearly did him in, as it had been quite some time, and so he forced himself to stay still for a few moments. Breathing narrowly, Harry smoothed his hands up and down Draco's back, reveling at the feel of his sweaty, flushed skin, how his ribs expanded and contracted quickly with his shuddering breaths.

"You good?" Harry asked, his voice deep and husky even to his own ears. Draco nodded.

Finally sure he wouldn't cum immediately, Harry began thrusting slowly, the clenching tightness of Draco's body still almost too much for him. Wrapping his hands around Draco's hips for purchase, he gradually increased the speed and forcefulness, delighted when Draco arched his back and squeezed handfuls of sheet with the hands.

"Is that – all – you've got – Potter?" Draco panted, head hanging between his shoulders.

Harry dug his fingers into Draco's hipbones and went for it, knowing he wouldn't last long, but aquiesing to the request nonetheless. Who was he to deny a lover's needs, after all?

Soft moans came from Draco as Harry slammed repeatedly into him, the only noise in the room save that of the rhythmic slapping of their bodies and Harry's harsh breathing.

At last, Harry cried out, the electric spiral of heat in his groin exploding in a delicious wave of pleasure. Slumping forward onto Draco's back, he rotated his hips a few more times before coming to an exhausted halt. Harry immediately reached underneath them, ready to finish Draco off, but Draco's hand grabbed his wrist gently.

"Already done," he said softly, the sound muffled slightly as Draco rested his head against the mattress.

Harry nodded, letting his head fall onto Draco's back. The other boy was shivering slightly, and Harry wondered if he was cold.

* * *

_Several months earlier..._

_ St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries – Official Record_

_ Division: Psychological Evaluation_

_ Patient: Harry James Potter_

_ Note: as requested by the Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement – in regards to Mr. Potter's recent injury, and the kidnapping and death of a fellow Auror._

_ Healer Robbins: Mr. Potter, how are you feeling today?_

_ H. Potter: Brilliant._

_ Healer Robbins: Good, good. I have your most recent report from your other Healers. Your leg seems to be doing very well, considering the injury you incurred. _

_ H. Potter: You mean considering someone tried to hack it off? Yeah, I'd say since it's still attached, I'm doing superbly. _

_ Healer Robbins: Does it bother you? That someone hurt you in that way? The Muggle way, I mean._

_ H. Potter: Does it really matter how someone tries to cut off your leg? Pretty sure the end-result is the same._

_ Healer Robbins: Yes, so it is. But you were raised with Muggles, were you not? I have sources that tell me they were not particularly kind Muggles, either. I'm wondering if the incident has caused you extra distress due to that relation. _

_ H. Potter: (pauses for several seconds) Who told you that?_

_ Healer Robbins: Who is not important, Mr. Potter. Please answer my question. _

_ H. Potter: No. This has nothing to do with them. Wizards are responsible for what happened. But I'm guessing you know all about it, right? They did ask you to do this interview, didn't they?_

_ Healer Robbins: Ah, I assume by "they", you mean the Ministry? (Potter nods) You're right, they did request this evaluation. But just to clarify, are you suggesting the Ministry and the wizards who attacked you are one and the same?_

_ H. Potter: No, but I _am_ saying the Ministry knew exactly what we were heading into. And they didn't say a fucking word._

_ Healer Robbins: I'm not sure what you mean. An Auror was kidnapped several days previous to the incident on the eighteenth, am I right? You and one other Auror were sent to investigate a lead, and were then attacked. What exactly do you blame the Ministry for in all that?_

_ H. Potter: The Ministry used her as fucking bait! I don't know if they're hoping I didn't see her before... or if I'm so traumatized I don't remember, but she _told me_. Getting "kidnapped" was part of an operation – they were supposed to be tracking her, but I guess they didn't realize these guys were fucking psychopaths! _

_ Healer Robbins: How do you mean?_

_ H. Potter: They cut off her hands so she couldn't use her wand. Does that fit the definition?_

_ Healer Robbins: (pauses) Yes, indeed it does. I apologize, Mr. Potter, I wasn't aware as to the extent of the deceased's injuries._

_ H. Potter: The... She has a name, you bastard!_

_ Healer Robbins: Ginevra Weasley, I know. She joined the Auror division several months after her final year at Hogwarts. Accelerated quickly to working in the field. And her brother, Ronald Weasley, also an Auror. And all of you were very close, which is why I'm conducting this evaluation. What exactly was the nature of your relationship with Ms. Weasley?_

_ H. Potter: Why the hell do you care? And why the hell are we doing this anyway? Whomever ordered Ginny into that godforsaken assignment should be the one getting their fucking head examined – I'm fine!_

_Healer Robbins: Again, you seem to be implying that the Ministry, at least someone in the Ministry, was aware of the danger Auror Weasley would be placed in. But surely, as an Auror yourself, you know the risks on any given assignment can be extreme. It seems what happened to her, and to you, was simply a matter of bad luck. _

_ H. Potter: It was _not_ a matter of "bad luck", and it's not simple at all! You still don't understand, Healer, because I haven't explained the most important thing Ginny told me. She spent days with them, horribly injured, and they obviously didn't expect her to live. And _they talked_. They told her things... things about themselves, about the Ministry..._

_ Healer Robbins: What sort of things, Mr. Potter?_

_ H. Potter: I didn't get to hear that much before they... but she did tell me one, very important, fact. They too, just like Ginny, and just like me, were operating under Ministry orders._

* * *

Draco shifted uncomfortably beneath Harry's weight, turning his head a bit to the side so he could breath better.

"Planning on staying up there all day, Potter?" Draco could feel Harry chuckle softly.

A moment later, Harry moved. Draco gritted his teeth at the unpleasant sensation of Harry's cock slipping wetly out of him. His hands lingered for a moment on Draco's back and arse, and Draco had the realization that if they waited much longer, Harry would probably be ready to go again.

Moving deliberately, Draco rolled onto his back and sat up. Harry was watching him, his expression intense and serious, even standing there in all his naked glory.

"What is this?" he asked.

Post-coital talk wasn't something Draco was accustomed to, nor something he wished to gain experience in now. He settled for a shrug, crossing his arms casually.

Harry, not letting the matter drop, crossed his arms as well. Draco thought he looked supremely ridiculous, standing there naked in the morning light, stern and nervous all at once.

"Well?"

"It's sex, Potter," Draco sighed. "We're both young and horny, not to mention stressed as fuck. So why not _fuck_ to relieve a bit of the tension, right?" He realized his hands were shaking, and he quickly tucked them under his arms so Harry wouldn't see.

Harry worried his lower lip for a moment, dropping his gaze to the floor briefly, then back to Draco.

"Just sex..." he said softly.

For the quickest of moments, Draco imagined he saw a flash of hurt on Harry's face, but it was gone before he could be sure.

"Alright," Harry went on with a firm nod. "Works for me."

Draco's belly jumped with twitchy nerves. "Alright, what?"

Harry gave him a wry look. "Well, if doing 'this'," he gestured to the bed, "is the best way for us to keep from biting each other's heads off all the time, and we're both enjoying ourselves, then why not? I'm certainly not complaining."

Almost on cue, Harry's cock gave a noticeable twitch. Draco forced a grin, feeling a bit sick despite himself.

After last's night unexpected encounter, and after levitating Harry's passed out self back to his bed, Draco had slipped quietly back into his own room. Taking an unsteady slide down the wall, Draco sat and made a valiant attempt at sorting out what had happened with Harry. And more than that, how Draco felt about it all.

Harry cared for him... Draco spent a great amount of time wrapping his mind around that strange notion. Despite what Harry had been telling him since their arrival in Grimmauld Place, Draco had never truly believed he was there for any reason than to help Harry find Hermione. He was valuable for that much, at least. The haphazard plan of convincing Harry to feel for him the way he did for his friends, if with only a small fraction of that intensity, well, Draco didn't think it would actually go anywhere... definitely not here. Not to Harry staring at him last night with fever-bright eyes, confessing his worry at never seeing him again... saying Draco's name as if he actually mattered...

As the clock chimed five a.m., Draco had swallowed and forced his thoughts to his own feelings. How did he feel about Harry? Yes, he'd saved him from the attack in the park, and yes, he was reluctant to leave and be alone... but did that mean he cared? Shaking with emotion, Draco stopped. It didn't matter, really. He didn't matter.

After all that had happened, Draco only knew with absolute certainty what it felt like to be used by others, and Harry wasn't doing that. Harry was better than that, deserved more credit. Draco knew he was too fucked up to truly give someone like Harry what he wanted on an emotional level, but he could at least appease him in other ways. Physical ways. And so, after a few more hours when Harry walked nervously through Draco's bedroom door, Draco shoved him feelings down, closed off his mind as he'd learned to do so well, and gave Harry all that he could. What other way could he possibly repay him, after all?

Back in the present, Harry grinned in turn. "One more turn before breakfast, then?"

Some time later, Draco cried out softly as he came into Harry's hand. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the orgasm linger even as Harry pushed Draco's legs apart and sunk into him once again.

Harry had insisted they fuck face to face. Draco didn't protest, but found it oddly disconcerting as Harry leaned over and kissed him, hips snapping up and down. Draco returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Harry's back, rested on foot on Harry's arse. Harry's movements intensified, grew slightly more sporadic. While his rhythm slowed, his thrusts grew more forceful, pushing Draco's body into the springy mattress with each one.

Draco closed his eyes, knowing Harry would last longer the second time. He tried to focus on the feel on Harry's cock inside of him, on his tingling nerves that still vibrated with the force of his own finish. It was Harry on top of him... Harry, who was _not_ hurting him... Harry, who would stop if Draco asked him to...

Past sights and smells and sensations assaulted Draco with sudden clarity, and he made a choking noise into Harry's mouth. He quickly played it off as a sound of pleasure, even as Harry lifted his head to look at him. Draco swallowed and nodded, letting Harry know he was alright.

Harry came several minutes later with a hoarse cry, collapsing onto Draco where they lay together, chests heaving, sweaty, sticky skin drying as they rested.

"I think," Harry murmured, lifting his head to look at Draco, "we should start and finish every day like this." He smiled happily and lowered his mouth to Draco's.

Draco nodded as they kissed. _Whatever you want_, _Harry._

* * *

_Two months before Draco's release, a strange little witch stepped into one of the holding rooms in Azkaban. She payed no attention to the grime and blood-spattered floor her heels clacked over, echoing around the stone room like firecrackers. The prisoner she's come to see already sat at the lone table in the center of the room. His hands and feet were bound tightly together, connected to a equally formidable binding around his throat, which the witch knew would cut off his air supply were he to struggle too much. She smiled, satisfied as always with the attention to detail here in Azkaban. _

_ "Ah, Draco, so lovely to see you again."_

_ Draco's listless gaze slowly lifted to hers. Not hint of recognition formed, something the witch knew would happen as well. _

_ "Do I know you?" he asked. His voice sounded particularly scratchy today. The witch frowned, hoping it would last long enough for their conversation. _

_ "Oh no, dear, not at all." She smiled. "But you see, you're not supposed to. It's nothing to worry about, I promise."_

_ Draco frowned slightly. "Are you with the Ministry?"_

_ The little witch tsked. "Now, now. I ask the questions, Draco. Of course, you don't know that, so it's quite alright. Do pay attention, however. I hate repeating myself."_

_ "I'm already in fucking prison," Draco spoke softly, but his eyes sparked with a hint of life. "What more could you possibly want to know?"_

_ Not bothering to warn him, the witch intoned a word beneath her breath and began shuffling quickly through the last four weeks of Draco's memory. Sitting at the table, his body went stiff as a board, but the experience would not be painful for him, as he had literally no chance of resisting. _

_ As she finished, opening her eyes, Draco stared at her, face awash in horror. _

_ "What... what did you do?" he gasped. "That wasn't Legilimency, but..."_

_ The little witch raised her eyebrows. "You say that every time, Draco. I'm sure you would figure it out, given the chance, but seeing as you won't remember any of this, explaining it would simply be a waste of both our time."_

_ Draco continued to stare at her. "What are you talking about? Tell me who you are!"_

_ "Oh really, now. There's no call for raised voices. I thought the treatment you receive here might have broken you of such rudeness, by now." She smiled again. "The tall gentleman seems to have grown a particular fascination with you lately – had you noticed?"_

_ Upon entering the room, she had taken immediate note of the blood-soaked patch of hair on Draco's head, not to mention the left side of his face, which was mottled blue and green, eye swollen heavily shut. A concussion most likely. _

_ "Well, that's all I need for the day," she continued in a sing-song voice. "Until next time, Draco."_

_ "Please," Draco said quickly, desperately, "just tell me what you want. What are you doing to me?"_

_ "Why, my dear, can't you guess?" The little witch resisted the urge to laugh, so delighted she was to be part of this phenomenon. "I'm making you better."_

* * *

TBC


End file.
